Breaking Edward
by browniechadowes
Summary: AH. ExB. A jaded OCD Edward meets clumsy, disordered Bella. Will she be able to push him against his psychological boundaries? Rated M for future lemons and language.
1. One Lone Olive BPOV

**~*~ Author's Note ~*~**

Alright, so for me to keep my sanity, I need at least two stories going at one time. Thought this concept would be interesting. This is my first AH fanfic…

General premise: I have severe OCD. Relationships are really fucking hard when you have it. Vampires supposedly have a form of OCD (incessant counting, etc.) so I thought it'd be ironic and funny if Edward had some OCD tendencies.

This is rated M. There will be some uuber sexing.

Reviews are fucking awesome.

And no… I don't own Twilight… or olives. Scratch that, I do have a few olives in the fridge.

**~*~ One Lone Olive ~*~**

BPOV:

"Bella… Bella! Jesus Christ, girl, wake up. If you haven't noticed, we're a little swamped here."

Rosalie pouted her perfect lips in a grimace, flipping a bottle effortlessly in her hand while winking at the frat boys surrounding the bar.

Shaking the silver canister, she poured frothy shots into six glasses and slid them over to the boys, who, popped collars and all, were practically drooling over her blonde tresses… or at least that's what I told myself in my mind.

Imagining them thinking about any other part of Rosalie was, well, slightly disturbing.

I sighed, sending an apologetic smile towards her, and picked up my tray. She ignored my attempt at an apology, deciding instead to bend over the bar, giving the boys a pretty good eye full of her… erm… assets.

"Why anyone had the balls to let me carry around a tray of breakable glassware, I'll never know." I muttered to myself, watching my hands shake as the full glasses slopped beer over the sides.

I shouldn't be complaining. I should be grateful. If it weren't for Alice, the extra income I was making would be non-existent, and trying to pay your own way through college while maintaining something of a decent GPA was proving to be hard enough as it was.

"Here you go," I mumbled to the crowded table, slipping the bill under one of the glasses.

I felt a hand tap slightly against my ass as I walked away. I turned my head back around and glared at the culprit. He merely winked, and flicked a shot glass down into his mug of beer. Fuck. They'd better leave a decent tip.

I pushed my way against the overbearing crowd, trying to make my way back to the bar, and to Rosalie… whether I wanted to or not. Rosalie had proven to be rather irritated by me in general. She had christened me "stumblefuck" on my first day of work after I tripped over my toes headlong into the numerous bottles of liquor on the far wall.

The name had stuck, whether I was in the room or not.

"Think happy thoughts, Bella, happy thoughts," I whispered to myself. It could be worse. At least I had a job. That was helping Renee out a lot.

My mother was slightly absentminded. She had sworn to me all throughout middle school and high school that she was saving up for my college education. The look on her face was so determined, like a little kid showing her mother a drawing in which she was truly proud of, but looked like a pile of crap.

I had to push myself to tell my mother that said pile of crap bore the likeness to a Degas masterpiece.

Somewhere in the midst of traveling around with her new husband Phil and the Home Shopping Network, the little nest egg had been lost to the predators of late-night shopping. It didn't surprise me.

Asking Charlie, my father, for any money towards my college education just seemed… awkward. I hadn't seen him in quite some time. Thinking back on it, I'm sure neither of us really knew why. Renee and Charlie's split had been patchy, but not terrible. It was just, I guess, easier to stick to one life and not try to tear myself into two.

"Yes, at least I have the job," I stated again to myself.

"For now. Seriously, Bella, look at the crowd. We're fucking swimming in drunk students and you keep walking around like a zombie. Ah well, I guess it's your tips lost, not mine. Here, take this to table 6, and try not to be your stumblefuck self. He's particular about his drinks."

I guess I'd made that last statement out loud.

"Sorry," I mumbled, trying to avoid eye-contact with the beauty.

Out of all of the people in my past, she had been the only one to strike fear into my heart. That was saying something, having managed to live through high school.

I glanced at the tray I was now carrying back through the bar. I furrowed my brow, taking in the drink.

"Weird, that can't be right," I thought to myself. The dry martini balancing on the slip-proof tray was full to the brim with olives. Three sticks with five olives on each were protruding like an octopus out of the top.

For a second I debated battling my way back to Rosalie, but one look in her direction made my heart freeze, and I resigned myself to accepting the repercussions of the botched drink. According to Rosalie, she never made a mistake.

And I wasn't going to argue with her on that one. I liked my head where it was, thank you very much.

"Here you go," I said, trembling slightly as I placed the full drink onto the coaster, attempting, and failing miserably, to inconspicuously wipe off the side that had become wet with my clumsiness.

My eyes would not take themselves off of the odd arrangement of olives, and I said, still staring at the glass,

"Is everything how you ordered it?"

A long, thin finger slid into my vision, slightly caressing one of the plastic sticks. The thumb gripped the bottom end, and the hand twirled the olives around and around, making the vodka fall back into the glass.

"Yes. Why wouldn't it be?" The voice hitting my ears was like man-sex and honey, all wrapped into one. The tone, however, irked me to no avail.

"It's just… well," I began stumbling on my words. It was enough to be physically clumsy, but verbally? I was majoring in English, for God's sake. I cleared my throat and tried again, still keeping my eyes perched on the drink.

"It's… a shitload of olives."

Gah.

I could feel myself blush.

"Do you have a problem with olives?"

It felt like an eternity was passing. For some reason, this one voice was making me choke up. My mind was spinning with lust and contempt. I wanted to both jump and slap the person speaking to me.

A slightly damp hand touched my cheek, pushing my face to look at his.

"Tell Rosalie it's perfect, as always. And I think the olives deserve an apology."

Oh holy shit.

He was gorgeous. My eyes sunk into his deep emerald pair. They were flecked with bits of gold. His hair was strewn out in every direction, the dim light from the bar causing it to glow reddish-brown. His lips were smirking up at me, taunting me.

I felt myself bite my lip. For a second, I briefly wondered how much strength it would take to pull him into the shoddy bathroom up the stairs and take him right there.

Sane, non-horny Bella, came to the rescue with slight disgust.

Did he just ask me to apologize… to his olives?

And as much as it hurt to leave the beautiful creature before me, cradling my cheek, and as much as I knew my wallet would hurt from the lost tip, I stared at him coldly. The next thing out of my mouth was so uncharacteristic of me, so disrespectful to a customer.

But something about his tone, and his eyes, made anger bubble up through my throat. I could feel the word vomit hit my brain before filtering out through my mouth.

"Fuck olives," I said abruptly, leaving the check, and my gooey heart, behind.

"They might get a little stuck, don't you think?"

Alice had come skipping up to me, having heard the end of my dispute with the Olive God. I wrinkled my nose as the thought of Alice attempting anything with olives permeated my imagination.

"God, Alice, gross."

"What? The fact that you're wearing your damn high school hand me downs instead of the great outfit I picked out for you, or me getting my freak on with some garnish? Because I vote that the ensemble is pretty terrible."

"There is no way in hell I'd be able to serve _anyone_ wearing heels, and you know it. I can barely do it in tennis shoes."

"It takes practice, is all. And a little confidence wouldn't kill you either. So, you finally met my brother, huh?" she asked, swerving her head in the direction that I had just stamped away from.

"He drove you to fantasize about gallivanting with pickled goods? Not my fetish… but to each is own."

"That… that… _thing_… is your brother?"

I wasn't sure what I meant by my statement. I was still hurt over the brash way he had talked to me. The tone in his voice had been so hostile. Then, when it had changed… when he touched my face. My body rebelled against me, and a shiver went down my spine as I imagined his hands twirling the olives from earlier.

Alice was chuckling slightly.

"Oh God, what did he say to you? Don't worry, that's just… well… that's the way Edward is. He believes he's a 'brooding soul' or some shit like that. And he has some hang-ups when it comes to his routines. Don't let him get to you. Once you get to know him, he's actually really sweet."

I chanced a glance over Alice's shoulder back over to the table where… Edward… sat. He was glaring up at me, and I was afraid that the glass cradled in his hand would be crushed by the intensity of his hand.

My cheeks grew crimson as I removed my gaze from his face. Alice, noticing my attention wavering, turned her head and looked at her brother. She shook her head slightly, swiping her short black hair from side to side.

"Oh, Edward. Stupid, silly Edward." She said, still looking towards him.

I heard the front door bell tinkling, and the hint of auburn hair whipping through the Chicago wind.

He was gone. I should have been relieved that the awkward situation was over, that the pompous ass had left for the night. I should have left the table, letting someone else clean it, so I wouldn't be hurt by a dismal tip. I should have turned away at that second, shouting "I am woman, hear me roar" and venting to friends about his arrogant nature.

But instead, I walked over to where he'd sat. I begrudgingly caressed the glass that had been in his hands only seconds before, still warm from its contact, balancing the stem between my fingers. I looked at the sticks, displayed in a neat row beside the glass.

Then something caught my eye. A stray olive, pinning a one hundred dollar bill against the wooden table.


	2. War Against Myself EPOV

**~*~ Author's Note ~*~**

Thought I'd give you an early update on my new story. This is my first time doing an AH story and doing it from two POVs. This one's from Edward. Enjoy the OCDness.

**~*~I Have Decided to Wage a War Against…Myself~*~**

**EPOV:**

My head was throbbing out of its skull with mundane equations and formulas. As much as I tried, I could never be as enthusiastic about chemistry as I was with my other science classes. I just didn't care about the properties of gold.

"My family has enough of that to where I should be concerned with it," I thought wryly to myself as I walked, hands in pockets, back to my apartment.

The living arrangements that I had procured for my senior year had seemed ideal at the time. Sharing an apartment with my sister's best friend's boyfriend was the way to go.

He would pay rent. I would pay rent. One big happy fucking family.

I hadn't put into account the bathroom situation. One bathroom.

Everything had been alright when he and Rosalie had first forged their relationship. When she would stay over, she would leave in the morning to get ready at her own place. I could still delegate the arrangement of the shower.

Now, everything had changed.

I had lost numerous fingernails to my teeth from the disheveled women's products, numerous skewed across the bathroom. Deodorant left out on the floor, shampoo and conditioner in the wrong place on the side of the tub, and a woman's schick razor laying precariously in the crevice where the antibacterial soap should have been.

I still had no idea what she had done with the soap.

Rosalie had been the death of me. Her intrusion on the controlled chaos of my life made my heart palpitate irregularly, and I had grown paranoid that I had began prematurely balding… which was ridiculous, as I had too much hair on my head as it was.

But I, Edward Cullen, could not bend on my routines. I needed that shower to be as I wished. For three days I laid in my queen sized, pressed sheets, feather-down bed… unable to sleep. My fingers itched to throw most of her things into the garbage. I needed to alphabetize and re-arrange her products.

I could not show weakness. Could not let her think that she had control over me.

She didn't. My mind had control over myself. And it drove me up a fucking wall.

****************************************************************

"Dude, come on. You haven't been out in… well… forever, man. Let's drop by the bar. Look, Rosalie's working, and so is Alice. It'll be fun. Get out for a bit."

Emmett's booming voice quaked over me as he shoveled a mouthful of the pasta I had cooked into his mouth. Tiny flecks littered the bottom of his cleft chin.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.

My hand twitched slightly to the napkin on my right, as I fought with myself to forget the red specks littering my roommates face. It was agony, but I was pretty sure neither Emmett nor I would appreciate me dabbing at his chin with a dampened napkin.

I attempted to distract myself with the question he had posed to me earlier. I knew I hadn't been the most social person in the world, but it was so much easier for me to keep my disorder in check when I had a set schedule.

Wake up. Run. Breakfast. Class. Lunch. Class. Homework. Cook dinner. More homework. Bed promptly at eleven. My breathing grew slower at the comfort of my routine.

"I don't know. Just the two of us?"

I knew that going out with Emmett meant a crowd. I couldn't control the inner-workings of a crowd.

"Nah, man. A few of the boys from my fraternity are chilling with us. You haven't met them. You don't even have to sit with them if you don't want to… I know Alice wants to see you."

He had hit it. Straight to the jugular. Alice and I were only a year apart. We had been really close in high school. She understood me, had come to accept the eccentricities that encompassed myself. However, for some reason, I hadn't felt comfortable being with her since her acceptance to the same university as mine.

Alice had a knack of screwing with my routines, trying to bump me out of line. I liked lines. I lived for lines. Strait and steady and perfect.

I sighed with defeat. I would force myself to step out, to push myself. I was strong enough. And I'd be damned to let my own self get the best of me.

Smiling like a kid in a candy shop, Emmett quipped, "Fuck, ya, man! Shots for the road."

And he poured two shots, the left one was one sixteenth of an inch lower than the other, merely brushing the glassed encasing. It bothered me to no avail. I reached for the one on the right.

*******************************************************************

I slumped with exasperation into the nearby two person small round table in the corner of the bar. The past two hours had been rife with popped collars, pastel-colored shirts, beer bongs, and flip cup.

How juvenile.

Hearing a loud wolf-whistle, my head turned towards the bar. Rosalie was bending over, nearly showing her damn nipples to the whole place, while Emmett stood in front of her, winking at her and taking the shot she had poured for him and his brothers.

My eyes scanned the rest of the room, wondering if they would find Alice. A part of me wanted to see her, to embrace her and ask how her classes were going. Another part of me hoped that she had called in sick.

That way I could just sit here for another hour or so, have a few drinks, and crawl into the safe haven that was my bed.

I began to tap my fingers on the table top. It was a habit I had picked up at some point in my life. I wasn't sure exactly when.

Pointer. Ring. Middle. Pinky. Pointer. Ring. Middle. Pinky.

I didn't concentrate on it, it just seemed to happen on its own accord. But I stopped abruptly as I saw a hand swat the top of a waitress's ass. My eyes rolled in disgust as I stared at the boy.

Fucking Mike Newton. He was a toe rag pompous prick that had only recently dropped out of the med program, having realized that no medical school would pick him up with the type of grades that he held.

"He'd better leave her a good tip," I mumbled to myself, picking back up my tapping.

Wondering if Emmett had remembered to order my drink with Rosalie draping herself across the wet bar, I checked my watch. I sighed internally. It was ten past one. I could feel my head begin to pound with a want to just slip out of the bar and head back to the apartment.

I was pondering the nearest exit when it happened. My world was flipped upside-down. I couldn't tell you right from left, and I didn't much care.

"Here you go," the voice had said. The slight tremble in her bell-like voice made my heart pound furiously. However, I couldn't make eye contact with her. She just seemed too… well… perfect. I didn't want to ruin it.

I stared at the martini glass in front of me instead.

"Is everything how you ordered it?" The sweet voice asked me.

I asked her why it wouldn't be.

My voice surprised me. It was clipped and a little harsh.

But I was sick and tired of feeling like a fucking psycho, and it irked me to no avail that even small things such as a drink order could set off the Spanish Inquisition. Looking at the martini glass and its fifteen olives, I thought that, to an outsider, it must look rather weird. But it made sense to me.

One olive for each sip. However much I detested Rosalie, she took her job seriously, and I could always count on the olive to sip ratio to be perfect.

Feeling self-conscious, I twirled the first stick on the left.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

And dragged the line of green beads out of the glass.

"It's… a shitload of olives," the voice shot back at me, seeming to quake even more by the end of her statement.

The humorous, upbeat, optimistic Edward inside of me wanted to laugh at the soft voice in amusement. The grumpy, up past bedtime, pessimistic Edward began to grow irritated at her fascination with my drink selection.

It was just a fucking martini.

"Do you have a problem with olives?"

Do you have a problem with me?

An eternity seemed to stretch from my last comment. I was able to finish off the first stick and start on my second. Laying the plastic toothpick vertically aligned with the table, I wondered why she hadn't said anything.

I began to long to hear her voice. I would do anything to keep hearing her voice.

Taking my hand grudgingly from the wet glass, I extended it to her face, cradling her cheek and pulling her face to me.

My arm was on fire. My head was screaming. This was not routine. I finish the whole drink before I divert and do anything with my hands. I do not say more than five words to the waitress. I do not touch anyone else's face. Ever.

I looked into her eyes, and it hit me. Where the fuck was the nearest exit, again? I wanted to get back to my bedroom, but the motive for my haste had changed. Her chocolate eyes glimmered in the horribly lit bar, dark brunette hair fanning out behind her and cascading over her shoulders.

She was heavenly, just as perfect as her voice had been. And her mouth…

Must. Say. Something.

My own voice was foggy in my ears, and I couldn't really piece together what I had said. Something about Rosalie and olives. I was so rusty at flirting, and so shaken up over the martini discrepancy, that I wasn't sure whether my statement had come off the right way.

"Fuck olives," the beauty said to my face, pulling away and leaving the table.

I guess it hadn't been as successful as I had hoped. I rubbed my fingers over the bridge of my nose as I picked up the last stick, laying the used one to the right of the first, an inch apart.

But it had turned out as I suspected. In the dating realm, I could never do anything right. I was too bizarre, too eccentric, too… ruled by my obsessions and compulsions. They always took first place, leaving the girl the back seat.

This… this… _thing_, I felt this indescribable need to fight for this. To fight for her. Me against myself.

And I would. Starting now.

Fingers trembling and temple pounding, I took the last olive off of the toothpick, precariously debating whether I could allow myself to do this or not without ordering another drink and starting again.

My hand darted up to my mouth, a few inches away from my lips, then it lowered.

I could do this. I could break it. I could.

With a large intake of breath, I pulled out my wallet and grabbed a hundred dollar bill. She might not realize the importance of the olive, and I wanted to do anything to show her just how important she had become.

I placed the olive, albeit, perfectly centered with the red stuffing facing up, onto the crisp bill and glanced around in the direction that she had walked off to.

She was talking to a small, bobbed-haired girl. Alice. I couldn't stay, not after all that had happened. I didn't have the strength to patch up my relationship tonight with Alice as well. I felt my eyes slip into a glare as I allowed myself to feast on the girl with the trembling voice.

Why couldn't it be simple? Why couldn't I just sweep her up, hold her, kiss her, touch her, without a care in the world?

The pressure I was exerting on my martini glass was so forceful, I was afraid I was close to shattering it.

Alice turned towards me, and I read her lips.

"Stupid, silly Edward."

She pushed me over the threshold. The olive was in place on the table, and one sip was left in my glass. Still glaring, and with all of the effort that I could muster, I forced myself to abandon the olive and pound down the last drops.

I ran hurriedly out of the bar, before I could pick up the olive or order another drink. My body and head ached. I didn't think I could be away from her, and I didn't even know her name.

How could I pursue anything with my "stupid, silly Edward" ways? It was laughable and implausible. I couldn't do that to her. She deserved better than a delusional, olive-counting ass.

"Fuck olives," I said, mirroring the words she had said to me earlier.

A couple making out in the nearby alleyway jumped at my voice.

And I smiled.


	3. Mementoes BPOV

**~*~ Author's Note~*~**

I would just like to say thanks for everyone giving this story support, and for your reviews. I try to answer each one, and always have an open ear for input.

And a special thank you very much to my beta kinolaughs… she's been with my stories since my fanfic cherry was popped. Go read her stuff, you won't be disappointed J

**~*~ Mementoes~*~**

**BPOV:**

"Ouch… shit! Watch were you stick that, it hurts!"

Alice was in one of her "let's make Bella pretty" moods after we clocked out from work. As much as I loved her, I had never… ever… let her give me a pedicure before. And this was why. I think she drew blood with the ominous looking coiled cuticle cutters.

She looked up at me from her handiwork; my toes, peeking out from the terrycloth wrapped around my feet, were being buffed and polished to naked obscurity.

"That's what she said."

And with that, the emery board, polish, and disastrously scary cutters were thrown to the ground as we laughed maniacally at ourselves.

My stomach, already sore from the previous night's events, was now in worse pain from the giggling convulsions. I had been so jumpy after Edward had left that I caused yet another glass wear meltdown… this time tripping into the stand of margarita glasses.

Always supportive, Rosalie had merely turned from the frat boy she'd been mauling, rolling her eyes and muttering something reminiscent of "whore of a stumblefuck" under her breath.

I wiped the tears from my eyes as Alice manhandled my big toe, trying to get it to stay still. She had a way of gripping the bottom of my foot, which was quite ticklish in nature. It wasn't my fault I couldn't hold still.

Alice had been enormously happy when we got back from the bar, and I asked her to work on my feet as I plunked myself down onto our overstuffed, pull-out couch.

I had always been the victim of her failed attempts at making me more… well… "polished", as Alice would say. Tonight was different. Tonight I had a motive. Tonight I was on a mission.

I was sure she could see it in my eyes, the want, the longing, to know more about her brother. Clearly, she knew the reasoning behind my request. I figured if I gave in to some illustrious delusion of me being happy being manhandled by her, then she would give me information.

"So…" she began, as she picked up the scary metallic torture device, "what'd'ya think about Edward?"

She _knew_ what I was thinking. We'd lived together for over a year now. She said she had a sixth sense for knowing what was going to happen, what was meant to be, and what was the best for each party involved. I said she was a pretentiously nosy little flea.

"He's… well… he's…"

Gah.

Trying to put into words the odd pull I had to her brother was impossible. He had acted so brashly; hot and then suddenly cold. I lost my verbal footing around him. Although I could write my physical clumsiness off as bad genetics, I prided myself on my eloquence.

"He's…" she prodded me along, her eyes creasing with the mirth about to burst out of her. I knew that look. It was her signature look when Alice thought she had a good read on what was supposed to transpire.

"Ugh, I don't know, Alice. He didn't like me that much, honestly. You heard the end of the conversation. I told him to make sweet, sweet love to his cocktail's garnish…"

The thought of reliving the words that had slipped out of my mouth made the blush crawl across my neck to my cheeks. I hated that about me. Outgrow awkwardness after puberty? I think not. Just ask my two left feet.

Alice began to quake with laughter, her bob waving back and forth with tremors as she held the bright pink nail polish she was lathering on my toes far away from my feet.

"It's not funny!" I shouted. I was beginning to grow irritated with her.

"I'm sorry, it's a little funny. What was that… _thing_ I saw in the freezer again? Please don't tell me you thought I wouldn't notice."

If I thought the apples extended from my face were red before, it was no comparison to now. I could feel the heat radiating off each single pore of my skin.

So… maybe I had decided to keep the olive as something of a memento… if only a memento of a gorgeously torturous boy with whom I was forcing myself to stay unattached to. After clearing the table, I'd quickly slipped the olive, and the tip, into my apron.

When I got home, with Alice in tow, I had tried to sneakily seal it in a plastic bag and shove it towards the back of the freezer. Alice always ate out with her boyfriend, Jasper, anyway. She hadn't glanced into the back of our fridge since the first day we moved in together.

Apparently, she had decided to take a peek.

"No, I thought you wouldn't notice. I… I don't really know why I'm keeping it. I'm damn confused, really. Like I said, I couldn't really get a good read from your loving older brother."

I fished into my apron, which I had sat hap hazardously on the kitchen counter.

"Here," I said, rather forcefully, walking on my heels against the linoleum floor, as my toes were still in exile, trapped between weird foamy things that Alice had pummeled onto me. I was sure I resembled a demented penguin as I shuffled back to her. I held out the one hundred dollar bill.

"Please give it back to him. For some reason, it just feels weird… wrong even. I mean, he had one drink, I cussed the shit out of him, and then-"

She tried to cut me off mid-sentence, "But-"

"No, Alice, look. Just give it back, okay? I don't feel right about it."

With a huff and pursed lips, she took the bill out of my hand rather forcefully, and shoved it down her shirt.

"If that's the way you're going to be about it…"

"That's the way I'm going to be," I said bluntly. "Are my toes dry now? I need to get some rest."

I didn't really need rest. I needed time away from my thoughts; away from Alice and Edward and olives and money.

With a sigh, she tugged at the wedges between my toes, "I can see you want to go to bed, and there's no arguing with a PMSing, grumpy, tired Bella," she said, plopping the discarded devices on the coffee table, now skewed with more utensils then I ever thought necessary just for toes.

I wobbled, heel to toe, to the left to my bedroom. I just needed to shut down.

"Good night," she called after me, "… and I still get to give you a damn manicure tomorrow. You promised."

I grumbled a response as I made my way to my small loft bed, ready to rid myself of anything confusing, trying instead to focus on tomorrow.

**************************************************************

"Well, that fucking went as planned, I guess! Score again for me."

I stood up in the darkness of my room to the sound of a sweet tenor yelling in between the cracks of my door. I squinted at the clock. Three in the morning.

"She wanted me to give it back to you… and by the way, thanks for stopping by before. You know how much I love to see my older brother so very often. If only during holidays, when we're back at home. It's not like you live in the same town or near the same vicinity as me or anything."

The sarcasm radiating from Alice's strained voice was that of which I'd never heard before. I waited with bated breath as I listened to the conversation occurring just outside my bedroom door.

My arms were pressed against the pillow that I was cradling close to my chest while I slept. It was a weird habit, and one that I was afraid would not die anytime soon.

But the only thought at the moment going through my head… and my, well, more tender regions was…

He was here. Only steps away.

"Don't give me that shit, Alice, you know I feel terrible about avoiding you. It's just… it's just necessary, okay?"

There was a lot of ruffling, the sound of jean material against paper.

"Oh…" Alice had breathed out rather loudly, "Not this shit again. Are you serious, Edward?"

"I need to get away, Alice. I can't… I don't… my routines have been fucked up, starting tonight. I can't sleep, I can't do anything that I normally do, and I think it's because of her. I need to get away. A weekend in Alaska could clear my mind. I could get back to what I need to be doing in order to function."

He was leaving? Scratch that… nether regions completely dried up. Drought due to lack of any sort of chance with asshole brother of roommate.

I heard Alice sigh hard into the stale apartment air.

"Fine. But don't expect me to explain when you don't show up or aren't available at all for any _extracurricular activities_." She put emphasis on the last two words, making my brow crumple in confusion.

"Like I had a chance in hell, anyway," the melodic voice stated.

A door slammed.

Then opened.

Then slammed again.

Then opened.

Then pulled shut for the last time.

A small click of the lock followed.

And I was left, all alone in the dark, knowing that part of my heart had exited the living room along with his presence.


	4. Get Laid and Get My Shit Together EPOV

**~*~ Author's Note ~*~**

Hey all and thanks so much for reading! Just to clarify, Edward still has no idea that Bella is Alice's roommate, as he's been out of the loop with Alice for awhile. Hope you like the next chapter, and I will seriously worship the ground you walk on for reviews... yeah, it's gotten that scary.

An extra super-duper thank you to my beta kinolaughs. She rocks my socks, and has me busting up laughing with her fic "The How To Guide". Seriously, milk spurting out my nose type of fun.

**~*~ I Have Decided to Get Laid and Get My Shit Together~*~**

**EPOV:**

One forty-five in the morning. I was awake. My eyes were open. My extremities felt like logs attached to my torso. My mind was whirring about at a million miles per second. I was awake. _At one forty-five in the morning._

"Of all that is holy," I muttered to myself, whipping the covers off of me, turning my beside lamp on, and trudging across the lavishly furnished room to the corner where I kept my keyboard.

I cracked my knuckles and moved on to my fingers; pointer, ring, middle, pinky, thumb on the left then the same on the right. Striking a low set major chord, I tried to lose myself into the lulling melody of Chopin.

Until I struck a wrong note.

Breathing out slowly through my nose, I began again, allowing my mind to trail off as my right hand flitted over the higher keys, my left lingering slowly over the bass notes.

Another wrong note.

Clenching my jaw, I began once more, trying to lose myself in my music as I'd always been able to before. This particular song was one of my favorites, and I was sure that on most nights I could play it in my sleep if asked to.

Wrong note.

My hands came slamming down on the plastic keys, causing one of the black faux-ebony ones to fly off and hit the side of the wall.

_She_ had done this to me.

I had my routines, every hour of my day, laid out so that I could avoid _this_. My repetitive compulsions were so much less when given a concise schedule - less chance to mess up, more of a chance to execute without error.

It was a lesson I'd learned the hard way. I had thrashed through most of my life being controlled by my compulsions, which were _always_ in direct correlation to my need for perfection. Edward screws up; Edward copes by giving in to certain rituals. It was the way I had always been.

My father, Carlisle, tried to eradicate the behavior when I was in high school. Working on the Chicago medical board, he had connections to some of the best psychiatrists in town. I still remembered with perfect clarity the day I went to see Dr. Aro.

Carlisle swore by him. I swore at him.

"Son, in my opinion you have quite a severe form of obsessive compulsive disorder. There are some coping skills that you can learn, and I'm writing you a prescription for 100 mg of Luvox to be taken daily. It should help with some of the obsessive behaviors. And, as a side note, your school record is sparkling and Carlisle tells me you want to get into the medical field. If ever you need an internship, or even some advice, feel free to call me."

He seemed pretentious with his creepy smile and his winking eyes. I felt extremely annoyed at him for prying into every facet of my life, my complex makeup. I was tortured and disgruntled… and he just kept smiling and winking, making me feel like I was some sort of pet project.

I tried the medication. And I didn't feel as if I were ruled by my behaviors any more. I didn't feel the need to categorize and count every object in my sight. I didn't feel fear over my faults. I didn't _feel _anything.

At all.

So I stopped taking it, flushing the spare pills down the hallway toilet. I decided to find another solution, fixing what I could by myself. Adhering to a schedule and making immaculate grades smoothed down my anxiety. I thought I had grasped a handle on everything… until tonight.

"Oh, yeah, Emmie baby. Right there."

I could hear the muffled cries of Rosalie from the far right wall in my bedroom.

"Unnnghhh, ah Rosie, don't call me that. Too girly. I'm a man, say what I like to hear. You know what I like to hear, Rosie," Emmett's voice growled through the thin plaster.

"Mmmm, shit, harder, my super bear…. Oh god… right there… right there."

Rosalie shrieked with the power of her climax, the sounds of flesh slapping on flesh and the bedposts bumping against the wall intruding on my inner reflection.

"God, Rosie, I love you."

Then all the sounds stopped.

Normally, I was asleep by the time Emmett and Rosalie decided to go at it, but on the nights I was unlucky enough to listen in on their fuckage, I had always been rather indifferent.

Tonight I was annoyed, and, for some reason, anger and jealousy flooded my veins. They had it so easy, those two. They just… fit together. And they were too damn happy.

Emmett was all smiles after meeting Rosalie at the bash his fraternity had thrown for her sorority at the beginning of the year. Rosalie was glowing… when she wasn't busy being a cold-hearted bitch.

I had resigned myself to the conclusion that I could never have that. I'd had one mature relationship, and it just didn't work; turning out completely mauled by my need for order, and her lack of understanding.

Tanya.

She was three years my senior, and when we split up after she left for college, I would make sporadic trips up to her university in Alaska to catch up with her… and to get laid. As much as she couldn't stand my compulsive side, she could put up with me for a few hours when sex was involved.

I always felt comfortable because she knew what I was fighting. She had been with me through my early stages of diagnosis, and she never once commented on my quirks when we were in bed together, thank God. I don't know if my ego could have lived through that.

Which was probably why I hadn't gotten any in so long. I had grown so paranoid about my own actions that I didn't know anymore whether the things I did were normal or not on a day to day basis, let alone sexually.

I tapped my fingers in their normal repitition on the desk as my computer whirred to life, and I logged onto the Cullen family flight expense account. I was only supposed to use the credits for emergency situations, but in my mind, not being able to function normally anymore while in the middle of finishing out my senior year and taking the MCATs was an emergency.

There was a flight at 5:30 a.m. from Chicago to Juneau. I'd take it.

I had just clicked out of the flight confirmation page when my phone buzzed from my bedside table.

"_Come over here. Now_."

The text message burned a hole of guilt through my pupils, making me grab the bridge of my nose, pinching the sensitive area between my eyes.

Alice.

I glanced at my watch and breathed out. I owed this much to her; I hadn't seen her for over five months. The guilt was already beginning to settle in my stomach. I packed my duffel bag; black, blue, green shirts rolled to the left with two folded pairs of dark wash jeans. Everything in its place. Everything coordinated.

I needed to get to Alaska fast. My compulsions had never ran so far out of my control before. It was all because of _her_… I had begun to hate her, and love her, for it.

*****************************************************

Before I could pick up my hand to knock on the apartment door, it opened wide, cascading me in the dim light coming from inside.

I was enveloped immediately in a waist-high, clenched hug. I looked down at the top of my sister's dark head, and she squinted up at me in return.

"You came! Come in, come in!" she squealed with delight, pulling me forcefully through the front door.

I took in my surroundings. Upon her roommate's request, Alice had foregone our parents' generous housing compensation for something more modest. My mother had refused at first, only wanting the safest, best accommodations for her children, but somehow Alice had swayed her.

It looked like a normal low-rent apartment. A few wine bottles lined the walls along with numerous knick-knacks were placed along the baseboards. A modest couch stood in the middle of the room, a barrier between the kitchen and the living room, and there were a few bottles of nail polish strewn across the ground.

I wanted to scream at the disordered mess around me. It took all of my strength to keep from setting everything in its right place at that moment.

"I really asked you over here because, well, you know Bella?" she asked.

"No. Should I?" I snapped testily, rolling my eyes. If I'd known she had invited me over to ask insipid questions, I would have made my way straight to the airport. I glanced at my watch. I had barely over two hours as it was.

"Watch your tone, and it was a rhetorical question, stupid. She's the one you slipped this to." She shoved her hand down her shirt, retrieving a crumpled hundred dollar bill and waving it in my face. It was the same one I had left for the girl who had been wreaking havoc in my life for the past few hours.

"Oh." It was all I could say.

"This is for you, so-" she jammed the bill into my palm, "here." She glared at me, obviously hurt by my attitude towards her earlier in our conversation.

As much as I should have felt sorry for hurting my sister whom I had been so close to once before, I now only felt the rejection of my recent obsession. _She_ didn't want me. _She_ didn't need me. My world was a fucking wound, and she was smiling as she poured salt into it.

"Well, that fucking went as planned, I guess! Score again for me." I barked out, crumpling the dollar in my hand. I could feel the sweat start to accumulate from my clenched fist.

Alice went on a small diatribe rife with accusations of me abandoning her. I could only focus on the feel of the damp dollar bill clutched in my right hand. After a few seconds of her talking to me, I cut her off.

"Don't give me that shit, Alice, you know I feel terrible about avoiding you. It's just…" I stopped abruptly. She _should_ know already. She messed with my schedule, messed with my attempt at normalcy. Surely, if anyone understood, it would be her, "it's just necessary, okay?"

She blinked back the tears that were forming at the corners of her eyes. I moved to wipe them away with the tips of my fingers.

Left eye, swipe. Right eye, swipe. Left eye, fix mascara. Right eye, fix mascara.

"I promise I'll be better at keeping in touch in the future, 'kay?" I whispered to her, now mussing up her short hair and winking at her, "After I get back."

I ruffled through my pocket, abstracting the ticket I had printed from the computer minutes earlier. I held it out to her, knowing she would understand its meaning. Her reaction, however, was not what I had expected.

She was livid, and I thought I noticed a small look of disappointment in her eyes.

After bickering back and forth, she huffed, passing me back the paper ticket.

"Fine. But don't expect me to explain when you don't show up or aren't available at all for any _extracurricular activities_," she said, nodding her head towards the bill that was still in my right hand.

My brow crumpled in confusion. I had no idea what she was talking about. The impression I'd made on Bella wasn't a good one, hardly the sort of thing that would make her want to see me again.. Scare her to death? Maybe. Date her? Definitely not.

"Like I had a chance in hell, anyway," I stated, placing my hand against the front doorknob.

As I opened it, she stepped onto her tip toes and whispered in my ear,

"She kept the olive. It's in our freezer."

I slammed the door.

She had kept the olive, and given back the money?

I opened the door.

The olive was what I had left to signify how much I felt. It was a good thing, right?

I slammed it again.

But maybe she just needed a frozen olive for some reason? That may be plausible. But who would need an olive and not need one hundred dollars?

I opened the door.

I needed to get my shit together. For her.

Instead of slamming the door for the third time, as my body was aching to do to compensate for all of the drama of the night, I forced myself to shut it normally.

See? Fucking perfectly normal.

I made my way down the steps, into the rainy mist of the Chicago night, ready to catch a late-night cab to the airport.


	5. Sucking Up BPOV

**~*~ Author's Note ~*~**

So, you all could feel free to shoot me for not updating in forever, but I would just sip my pina colada and say, eh, I'll deal with it later. That's right, my sister surprised me with a Caribbean cruise. Really awesome, but really shoddy internet reception. I've been having slight withdrawal. Hopefully I'll be able to update more often, and if you read my other story, I hope to get an update on it in a few days.

Thanks so much for sticking with it, and for any concern over me abandoning the story. That just isn't in my vocabulary. ;)

And, as always, a great huge thanks to my beta **kinolaughs**, who is just too amazing for words.

**~*~ Sucking Up~*~**

**BPOV:**

"Dry martini, Rose," Alice's voice tinkled in the crowded air from my right. Instinctively, I scanned the crowd for a glimpse of tawny hair. I felt my anticipatory face fall as I was once again disappointed.

"Oh, cheer up, Bella. You heard Edward the other night, he's not even in town. And besides, the first time he even came in here was Saturday night."

"I know, I know," I said absentmindedly, fiddling with the straws in my server's apron.

If I'd had trouble getting him out of my head the night he woke me up with his raised voice, it was nothing compared to how much trouble I had now. I couldn't wrap my mind around it.

In English, Mr. Darcy turned into Edward Cullen.

In Humanities, Plato's philosophies turned into Edward Cullen.

In Poetry, sordid limericks turned into, well, Edward Cullen

And here, in the bar, every time someone ordered a martini, no matter how many olives, I thought of Edward Cullen.

"Wait, _your brother_, Edward?" the new waitress, Jessica, shot at Alice and me.

Before Alice could contradict or confirm Jessica's exclamation, she began again.

"Because I wouldn't hold out for him to be interested, Bella. God, Alice, you've known him your whole life. Isn't it obvious that he's in the closet? Just last year, at the Pi Kappa Phi dance party, my girlfriends all tried to break him and he turned every one of us down. A straight guy just doesn't do that."

I watched as Alice rolled her eyes.

"And," Jessica continued with her insipid observations, "no one... and I don't care how metro you say you are, matches up outfits like him. I swear, after he shot me down I was like, 'okay, this guy has to be more interested in my boyfriend.'"

She laughed maniacally at her own joke, leaving Alice to catch my eye as she cocked her eyebrow in a look that said, quite obviously, "this girl is a complete idiot".

"Sure," I agreed with Jessica. Avoiding Alice's looks, I pensively construed what I thought might be either a coping skill for Edward's rejection of the sorority girls, or what might be some facsimile of the truth.

I had to look at the facts as I knew them… He had been standoffish. He hadn't shown too much of an interest. He was too gorgeous to be interested in any version of the opposite sex, and he really had matched up his shirt to the band color on his watch...

But the tension between us had cut through my heart like a knife. This newly found, well, lust, I guess you would say, was ultimately foreign to me. I mean, come on, I had considered myself on the average side of college inhibitions; that was until the girls on my dorm floor my freshman year had given a new name to promiscuity.

I hadn't made out with someone while drunk.

I hadn't felt myself attracted to any random jock on campus.

I hadn't ever had sex.

The latter of the three I almost felt ashamed of rather than proud of. Even Alice, who hadn't found Jasper until last year, had way more experience in that department than I'd ever had.

The closest thing I'd even come to sex was my high school boyfriend.

My face still grew red at the memory of how awkward the situation had been.

"_I love you, Bella. You know how much we want this."_

_His sticky breath attached itself to the side of my neck. I was trapped under him in the back of his old Volkswagen Rabbit, his hand heavy on my breast as he shoved forcefully against the underwire of my bra._

"_I love you too, Jake. But I'm scared."_

And I was. I was never the type of girl that wanted to "save myself until marriage", but I always thought that there would be some bell in my head, some alarm going off that would scream when it was the right moment.

I had dated Jake for four years; all throughout high school. We'd been friends since childhood, and me moving back with Charlie for a summer and getting back in touch with the Black's just seemed like the natural progression of things.

But that moment, cramped and itchy in the back of his rundown car with the worn-out upholstery scratching my bare back as his hand pulled on the elastic of my "days of the week" underwear (it was Saturday... I was wearing Wednesday), didn't seem like the right time. My head screamed that it wasn't right, while my body retorted, "get it done and over with!"

The contradiction resulted in a bloody nose for Jake and a naked ass displayed to the neighborhood pulling open the back door for me.

We broke up shortly after that.

With Edward, it seemed different. It seemed right. It seemed like I was no longer holding myself back. _Well, obviously,_ I thought as I recalled the night that I restrained myself from going against my instincts and pulling him away from the small round table and into the employee bathroom to have my way with him.

Like I would have even known what to do if we actually had made it to the bathroom.

My reminiscing on the past, and of a future I dreamt and longed for with Edward, was interrupted by Rosalie's shrilly, chipped voice.

"Bella! Fuck, Bella, today please! These things are gonna melt and be no fucking good, and there's no way in hell they're going to be blaming it on the bartender."

I reluctantly grabbed the tray of iced shots from her hands and made my way to the table in the back corner.

"Hey, hey, hey, waitress from last week!" A drunken voice exclaimed towards me, raising an octave with each word. I recognized the blonde boy who'd cupped my ass the week before, the night that _he_ had come into the bar.

"Those're for my friends," he slurred, pointing a bent finger towards the table beside him.

I gave him a very tight smile, wanting to get this night, and the table full of drunken college guys, over with. I walked over with the tray to the table of gruff looking boys on my left.

"Thanks, sweetheart," one of the boys spouted to me as he took the damp shot glass from the tray.

"You're a real damn pretty mother fucker, y'know tha'?" another leered at me, taking the drink and winking disgustingly in my direction.

"Yeah, all the bitches here on campus are good at _sucking up_ to our frat, man," the third guy chimed in, licking his lips as he stared at my chest.

"Y'wanna show me, baby? There'd be a good tip in for ya."

The fourth frat boy grabbed my hand, despite my attempts to bat him away, and lacing my fingers in his, he forced my hand onto his crotch. He throttled my hand back and forth against his jean-enclosed package as I fought against him. I would have attempted to hit him if the tray weren't in my other hand.

"You mother fucking prick."

The cool voice, full of confidence and determination and hope, cut through my mind as a muscled arm pulled itself into my eyesight. The arm caught the boy's offensive hand, crushing it beneath long fingers and gangly biceps.

"Get the fuck out of here before I tear off whatever little shit it was you were trying to make her grab at. I'm surprised you could find it yourself."

And with that, the melodic voice belonging to my personal savior slung the frat guy out of his seat and pigeon-held him, walking him to the front door.

I took one look at Edward's face, it was full of so much anger and torment that my arms and legs shook, shivering goose bumps cascading down my skin.

The others at the table must have been feeling the same way. Instead of challenging him, four to one, they followed their pervert friend out the door.

With a small thunk, the hand molester landed on his face on the sidewalk outside of the bar. His friends grabbed him, helping him to his feet, and I watched them all stumble back to the parking lot.

I caught my breath as the tawny, windswept head turned back towards me from the outside door.

"You're coming to dinner with me. Now," he insisted, the hatred in his emerald eyes dissipated slowly from his gaze as he locked eyes with me.

"It's eleven at night..."

He shrugged, looking back into the bar, and extended the hand that had almost crushed the disgusting frat-ass before him. Without hesitancy, I slid my small hand into his and we walked out the door into the windy night.


	6. Ask Bella to Dinner EPOV

**~*~ Author's Note ~*~**

Back to regular updating, hooray! This is the chapter a lot of you have been waiting for... drum roll please? Did he or didn't he get down and dirty with Ms. Denali? Reviews are like skittles and glittery unicorns, addictive and awesome.

As always, amazing and wonderful thank you to my beta **kinolaughs**... Seriously, you guys would not be reading this without her J

**~*~ I Have Decided to Ask Bella to Dinner~*~**

**EPOV:**

My plane landed at Juneau Regional Airport at 8:57. Tapping my fingers against the armrest, I squinted my eyes and sighed to myself. _Would it really have been all that hard to circle the air three measly little minutes in order to arrive at an exact hour?_ I guess that sort of thing didn't bother most people.

When I was in a normal mindset, it wouldn't have bothered me either. I did my best to remain calm as I disembarked the plane, grabbed my bag and headed over to the car rental desk.

"Cullen... Cullen," the receptionist muttered as she tapped furiously on the keyboard at the Rent-A-Car kiosk, creating a mind-numbingly, off-beat clicking that grinded on my nerves.

"Ah, yes, here are the keys and you have a full-range GPS system compliments of your account. Have a safe trip."

I smiled tersely at the lady as I grabbed the keys to the rented Volvo. Sitting in the car, I breathed in the rubbery factory smell as I turned on the GPS device.

"What the fuck are you doing in Alaska, Cullen?" I asked myself, glaring into the rearview mirror at my pale, sleep-deprived face.

My body cried out to be near Bella. Just saying her name in my head gave me a permanent high. But there was no way in hell that I would allow myself to be around her for a single second if I thought I'd make an ass out of myself with my impulsions.

The hour drive to the Denali house went by like a flash. I drove through frozen tundra and towns with their lights still off, losing myself completely in the chocolate color of Bella's eyes. Those eyes; so innocent and pensive and intelligent.

_Why the fuck was I in Alaska? _

I knocked three times on the familiar green door lightly marked "Denali Sisters" in glistening white paint. The first "s" was curling slightly at the top, and I wet my forefinger to press the paint back onto the door.

Tanya's two sisters had joined her up in Alaska, and they had bought a modest house around fifteen minutes away from their university. Their popularity among the male population made me wonder if placing their surname on the door was a way for the girls' prospective prey to remember their name.

My breathing hitched in my throat as I heard the door creak open. There stood a younger girl, black hair tangled and mussed in a loose braid.

"Ugh, Edward, really? How random can you get?" she said, staring at me for a brief second and scrunching her nose in protest.

"Nice to see you, too, Kate."

"Tanya laid out some biscuits for you. You missed her by a millisecond. She knows you like to put the jam on them yourself, and she wanted me to tell you that she cooked them for one and a half minutes exactly in the toaster, whatever the hell that means. Just help yourself and go up to her room. I'm going back to bed."

With a slight "humphing" noise, Kate trudged wearily up the stairs to the second floor as I made my way into the small kitchen.

I opened the small jar of jam left on the counter, pulling the knife through its jellied contents. I shifted the knife over the slightly toasted biscuits.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

One quarter inch of perfection on each half.

I took in a whiff of the jam before replacing the lid on the jar. Strawberries.

Bella's shining, brunette hair came to mind, and I marveled at the simple beauty she possessed, how I could be so entranced by her very presence…

Caught up in my thoughts, I had let the biscuits grow cold. I _never_ let the biscuits grow cold. Stomach growling, and frustrated with myself for not being able to do something as simple as eat a cold biscuit, I tossed the ruined meal into the trashcan and took my suitcase up to Tanya's room.

Tanya's room was gender-neutral, to say the least. A black comforter enveloped a plush, queen-sized bed. All around were bookshelves full of law periodicals and case binders. Black and white and blue and green. The scent of her heavy perfume hung in the air.

Laying my bag down on the ground, I gazed over to the bed. A note lay there and I read:

_Eddie, _

_Laid some biscuits out for you. I know you like them and they won't weird you out too much. Hope all is okay. Take a nap and wait for me. I have classes until this evening. You need to explain what the hell is going on, so rest up and be awaiting the Denali Inquisition._

_Much love and irritation,_

_T. _

Crumpling up the note and throwing it into the nearby waste paper basket, I heeded her advice and curled up on the bed, not bothering to draw the covers over myself or change into more comfortable clothes.

For eight solid hours I held and caressed my Bella, oblivious to the outside world and all of the hang-ups I brought into it.

********************************************************

"Wake up, Eddie."

I reached out to grab for Bella's hand, wanting to hold it and tell her that I would never leave her, that for some reason I felt that I could never be away from her.

"Mmmmm, I'm here," I felt myself murmur into the pillows around my face.

"No shit, man. I get a strange call from Alice telling me you're on your way here, and you're curled up in the fetal position on my bed. Really having that hard a time finding a good lay in Chicago?"

My head pulled out of the feather down as I squinted upwards at the voice, confused at the sharp, drawling tone that contrasted so greatly against the one I had been dreaming of. I became lucid as I looked up at a face I had not been expecting. My mind had been so consumed with Bella that I was shocked to find Tanya staring down at me, one eyebrow skimming her hairline.

I let out a breath of disappointment. What else should I have been expecting?

"Ah, Tanya," I said, taken aback at the roughness and evident melancholy in my voice.

"Were you expecting the pope? You _are_ in my bed, sweetheart," she said, rumpling my hair exactly in the way she knew would annoy me best.

She had always been rather blunt and to the point. Staring back at her though bleary eyes, I could see why she had attracted me in high school. Her flawlessly curled blonde hair complimented her pale visage. She would purse her lips before speaking, making them pucker slightly.

In the past, this would make me grateful for our interesting relationship. Now, I was only tortured. Tortured that her red-glossed lips were inches from mine rather than nervous nude ones. Tortured that her hair smelled of different sprays and crackled slightly at my touch. Tortured that the eyes staring into mine were scrutinizing blue ones, not a deep, mellowed brown.

"Come here," she said, I assumed taking my panged expression for one of sexual deprivation.

I felt her hands grab onto my collar, felt her small bony fingers popping each of my buttons off. I couldn't move. Frozen in place I tried to counteract her actions in my head. _"This is wrong! This isn't right!"_

She shoved my shirt off of my arms, bundling it up and throwing it into a nearby corner. Her cool fingernails pressed hard patterns against my chest, etching the outlines of my abs down past my belly button.

Shrugging off her sweatshirt, she flipped it effortlessly over her head. I still hadn't moved an inch. I merely sat on her bed, stunned at the numbness I felt coming over me.

Her lips laid hot kisses below my jaw, enveloping my stubble in soft stickiness. She breathed, panting into my ear, and I tried to force myself to go through with this.

But with every touch, every sigh, I only thought of Bella. Would she touch me like that? Would she sound like that? Would her soft brown hair move more effortlessly and smoothly than that? I was pondering those questions with each caress.

Trying to concentrate on the woman in front of me, I allowed my hands to slowly move forward. The tips of my fingers grazed the top of her black, lacy bra. With a quick breath in, I cupped her breast in my hand.

I forced my other hand to move up to Tanya's bra strap. The stretched black elastic pulled against the two first fingers as I slid it off of her shoulder. Looking at the naked crest of her shoulder blade, I felt my hand slide it back up her arm. With a soft snapping noise, it was replaced in its aforementioned spot.

"No, Cullen, get over it," I muttered, mostly to myself. I felt Tanya's inquisitive eyes graze my concentrated face as I made my hand push the strap back down.

Two seconds later, I had replaced it yet again.

And up.

And down.

And up.

And down.

And up—

"Edward?"

Her steely hands grabbed at my right forearm, and her eyes pierced into mine with intensity.

"Is this a new glitch you've been having trouble with? You haven't pulled any shit like this since our first time."

"I..." I had no words for it. "I..."

"Aye like a pirate? Or, is _the_ Edward Cullen actually stammering?"

"Shut up, Tanya." I said, removing my right hand from her breast.

I was embarrassed. I was confused. I was so damn lost I didn't know what to do with myself. Here I was, with a half-naked, beautiful woman in front of me, and all I could think of was—

"Bella." It was all that would come out of my mouth.

"Okay, 'bella' as in some Italian fetish you have going on now, or Bella as in a person? What d'ya want, Edward? Pirate? Venetian concubine? You're really confusing me here."

The sarcasm dripped acid through each word she spoke to me. I could only sit there, kneeling like a fool, my left hand still placed on her bra strap.

"Jesus, fess up already," she said, rolling her eyes and jumping off of her bed to retrieve her sweatshirt.

I took a gulp, willing myself to come to grips with the fact that _the girl _had made yet another aspect of my life more difficult.

"Bella... Bella is a girl I met. I can't do anything right. I've been a complete mess. I haven't been like this in... well... ever. She makes my compulsions that much more pronounced, and I've grown more worried about the shit I'm doing wrong. I can't sleep. I can't shut a door properly. I can't even fucking touch you without thinking about her."

It all came out in one great burst. Everything that had been bothering me, all out on the table for the first time. I felt relieved... and a little scared of Tanya's reaction.

My fear was interrupted by a giggling, bouncing set of curls.

Tanya gripped her stomach, wiping tears from her eyes with the back of her hand as she barked out, "you... you came here... because... you like... a girl?"

She was patronizing me, and I felt my temper start to rise. She seemed to see the change in expression on my face, because she tried to stifle her laughter.

"Wait, it's just," she said, still shaking. "I mean, who in their right mind says, 'hmmm I really like a girl, let's fly across the country and hook up with an ex-girlfriend'? It's hysterically insane. God, Edward, OCD gives you permission to be anal-retentive, not retarded."

I waited a few minutes for her ranting to subside. I could feel my neck begin to grow red with embarrassment. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, the only solution to my problem.

"Tanya, you're the only girl I've been with. She doesn't know about my problem, and I haven't been functioning _at all_. I thought you could help."

"What, by fucking your brains out? Sorry, but it seems as if you've already lost those. Good God, Eddie, _really_? Stay here for awhile and rest a bit if you absolutely have to, but for God's sake, just take her out to dinner or something. That'd be a normal thing to do."

She kept snorting for a few more minutes, and I could vaguely catch phrases such as "freaking moronic" and "oh, poor little Eddie has a crush, what _shall_ he do?" I was staring stonily at the wall, having retrieved my shirt, sliding it back over my chest.

"Well, glad you could help," I said bitterly.

"I can, I can, don't get your little psychotic-ridden panties in a bunch," she retorted, wiping yet more tears from her eyes and pulling me off of her bed to my feet.

"It's all about adjusting and finding more coping skills. You can do it."

The earnestness in her voice would have made me feel secure, if she hadn't spent the past hour poking fun at my insipid stupidity.

**********************************************************

Pulling into the parking lot of the bar where Bella worked, I went over the past week in my head. It had been pure hell to stay away from her for that long, but I felt I owed it to Tanya to cut off our arranged relationship for good.

Surprisingly, Tanya didn't seem too put out by the idea.

"_You know you'll always be special to me, but now I can have a little brother Eddie. Always wanted a brother."_

"_Ugh, Tanya, that's sick and incestual," I had said with a grimace._

_We had both laughed, chatting as she gave me a hug at the airport._

"_Just don't flip out on her, or do that weird thing you do with your tongue, and you'll be fine."_

"_Wait, what weird thing?" I asked her as she walked away from the terminal._

_She just winked, waving goodbye and blowing a kiss._

"_What weird thing?!" I shouted once more. _

The tinkling sound of the front door bells ushered me into the bar. I searched for the girl I had been thinking about non-stop for the past week. I spotted Alice near the front of the bar instead, and she pointed nonchalantly in the direction of Bella.

She had several shot glasses precariously balanced on her hand. I walked towards her, but before I could grab her attention, she was being forced to grab something else.

"Y'wanna show me, baby? There'd be a good tip in it for ya."

The greasy-haired guy who had _my_ Bella's hand in his fist leered at her as he pulled her hand closer to his groin.

"You mother fucking prick," I growled, my blood boiling.

I caught his hand in mine, trying to crush every bone that he possessed. The pure rage and anger that coursed through my veins shocked even me as I hoisted him up out of his chair. I screamed more expletives as I pinned his arms behind his back and threw him out of the bar, onto the cold pavement.

His face landed with a smack on the concrete. I hoped that he'd be disfigured for life.

Wading through the crowd, I turned towards Bella. Tanya's words rang through my head, and the only thing I could say to her was, "you're coming to dinner with me. Now."

I could feel the anger dissolving as I looked into the fear-struck eyes of the person I had felt an inexplicable draw to, the person who I had begun to crave. At her reluctance on the time, I shrugged my shoulders and held open the door for her.

I had found the person I wanted to spend the rest of my life with, and I didn't want to waste a second more without her in it.


	7. Veggie Pizza is My New Love BPOV

-1

**~*~ Veggie Pizza is My New Love~*~**

**BPOV:**

My hair was a tangled mess, deemed unruly by the Chicago wind, and I was sure my cheeks were bright red from blushing and from the slapping gusts. The hand that had forcefully taken mine dropped as we maneuvered a few blocks away from the bar.

"I'm Edward Cullen, Alice's brother."

The beautiful creature I'd grown so immediately attached to thrust out his right hand. I raised an eyebrow as I looked down at it as it encompassed my hand with a tight shake.

"I know," I said bluntly.

"That's where you say, 'Hello, I'm Isabella Swan. It's so nice to make your acquaintance'."

"It's Bella."

"Oh, I know that, but for pleasantries you would want to act slightly superior and distinguished."

I snorted in his face. Distinguished was hardly a quality I had ever tried to pull off. I was still completely confused as to his blunt actions and his insistence on dinner. I could feel the tension in the air, so with a slight curtsey (not failing to trip slightly on the sidewalk) I asked daintily, "Where to, Mr. Cullen?"

His crooked smile cracked into a grin as he took my hand yet again and began to lead me through the empty darkened streets.

"Well, you see, a waitress I had a few nights ago gave back my generous tip, so tonight we dine on only the finest late night culinary extravagances late night Chicago has to offer."

I blushed deeply at his words. I knew from my eavesdropping that Alice had given him back the one hundred dollar bill, but I wasn't ready for him to bring it up quite yet. His smile seemed tense as he spoke of it.

I tried to dispel the tension with some sort of an explanation for my actions.

"You know it had nothing to do with you, really, giving back the tip. I just... It's... Well, a hundred bucks is a little much to give to someone that... ah... cussed you out seconds before," I tried to clarify.

He laughed a short bark, shaking his head and running his hands through his amber, windswept hair. His eyes diverted from mine as he said, "Not if the customer was being an insufferable ass."

He blew out another small snort as he took the crook of my elbow and maneuvered me into a small glass door.

"Voila, madam, the best late-night, college-area cuisine in Chicago."

I tried not to laugh as he showed me to a nearby table. A grungy, hole-in-the-wall pizza joint was the last place I imagined Edward Cullen would even step foot in. I, however, was well aware of the restaurant. A guilty pleasure topped with sauce and cheese all wrapped in a paper plate of grease.

I was in love.

He pulled out the scrungy wooden chair for me as I sat down on the opposite side of the table. I cocked my eyebrow at him yet again for an explanation. The boy was certainly sexy, but he was also the most impulsive boy I'd ever been around. It was insufferably hard to figure him out.

"What?" he asked indignantly, flicking parmesan and red pepper flecks off of the table cloth and smoothing out a crease in the middle of the plastic.

"Nothing, it's just... Well... I didn't take you to be a big pizza connoisseur is all."

He winked at me as he pulled out a dampened menu.

I, yet again, felt the urge to pounce on the poor thing. How could he make me want him with a mere flutter of an eyelash?

"It's all for you, Bella."

My heart caught in my throat and I looked away from his gaze. I could feel the heat radiating off of my forehead, and I put my hand over my head to cover it.

"Why?" I said in a small voice. I picked my head back up and looked to the other side of the table. Edward was giving me a look so fierce, so penetrating, that I could do nothing but stare right back with wide eyes.

Before he could answer me, the waitress came to the table.

"What can I get for ya?" she asked, leaning onto the corner edge of the table and staring directly at Edward. I wanted to puncture each one of her ridiculously plasticized boobs.

"Ridiculous," I scoffed in agreement to myself as I crossed my arms over my own small chest.

"I don't think they have that one on the menu, sadly," Edward murmured to me with a small smile without taking his eyes off the paper in front of him. "What are you in the mood for?"

"Erm, veggie, I guess?"

"Vegetable it is."

"Ah, but no, erm, olives." I cringed to myself as I said it. I wasn't trying to be cute. I truly detested olives.

"Right. No olives." He passed back the menu to the waitress, who was now using her elbows to plump out her cleavage right into Edward's face. However, the flair of jealousy creeping through my skin was alleviated by his actions. Even with the free peep show shoved practically against his cheek, Edward's eyes never left mine.

Did I mention I was in love?

"Not an olive fan then, I take it?"

"No, not really. They're too salty... And pickled... And have weird God-knows-what red stuff in the middle. Nope. Not an olive girl."

"Well, that makes me feel a lot better. See? You weren't even cussing at me the other night. It was simply your mere prejudice against olives shining through," he said, his green eyes shining mischievously at me as he flashed his crooked smile, the one of which I was becoming addicted to.

And I was trying. I was trying _very_ hard to stay on my side of the table, to listen to every word he spoke. The problem was, though, that every word uttered out of his mouth sounded like liquid sex to my ears. My body was not cooperating properly.

"Heh, ya. Prejudiced."

Oh Holy God, I was being so lame. I felt I had to change the subject to something more serious if I was ever going to start truly listening to him.

"So," I said, clearing my throat and trying desperately to calm my rebelling nipples down, pulling the old 'cross arms and create friction to calm them down move', "Why exactly did you decide to take me to dinner in the middle of the night? And why the hell did you go away for so long? Why _did_ you give me that hundred dollar bill? Why'd you leave the olive?"

All of the questions just came gushing out of my mouth like a torrent of word vomit. I blinked a few times, smiling apologetically.

"I feel pizza should always come after being forced to grope a customer. It's like smoking after sex. I needed a vacation. I had a few too many martinis, and I could tell you were an olive-ist from the get go, so I left it to get on your nerves."

"Hah," I said darkly, watching as a greasy bus boy came to our table and sat the pizza down in the middle of us.

I looked into his face, waiting for him to form real answers to my questions. I didn't think they were all _that_ probing. He didn't move a muscle; he just kept smiling that half-assed crooked smile. Damn it, he was doing it to me again.

I grabbed for a slice of hot pizza and shoved the tip of the triangle into my mouth. The sauce glooped over the side of the slice onto my fingers, so I licked them off clean since the table was void of anything resembling a napkin.

"So, you're not going to tell me?"

"Not yet," he said coolly, crossing his arms over his chest as I had earlier.

"Ooh, man of mystery," I said, rolling my eyes slightly.

I took another large bite out of my slice of pizza, and cringed as even more sauce spilled over the side. I was definitely not looking very attractive at the moment. Between working a sweaty double shift and marinara sauce, I wasn't sure why Edward wasn't diving past me for the stacked waitress. Giving up on the piece, I sat it back down on my greasy plate and looked up at Edward's face.

His eyes were slanted slightly, and he looked either extremely pissed or severely constipated. I was hoping for the second, although the first would definitely be less awkward to deal with.

"What is it?" I asked, searching the corners of the table for some remnant of a napkin.

His fingers, which had begun to tap melodiously on the side of the table leg stopped altogether.

"Shit, I'm sorry. Did I say something? Sometimes I take things a bit too far. Sorry if I offended you or anything," I babbled.

Way to go, Bella. Way. To. Go. It took me less than an hour to completely turn-off the perfection of a man I had been dreaming about ever since I met him.

I was trying to go through my head, trying to think of something I could say to rectify the situation. Maybe I could blame my odd ramblings on a concussion or something. I'd had enough of those in my life to probably qualify for some brain tissue loss.

"Don't," he said huskily, reaching across the table and palming my cheek as he had the night I first met him. I felt his fingers grip the side of my head and lace themselves around my tangled hair. He pushed my head closer into his, and without warning, his lips were suddenly on mine.

A shiver of pure ecstasy shot up and down my spine. His lips attacked mine, his tongue flitting out to lick the corners of my mouth. I heard a scraping sound, and looked down slightly to see that he had pushed the pizza off of the table and into the booth at his side.

Both of his arms were around me now, and somewhere in the back of my head I was mortified to think that we were on top of a table in the middle of a crowded pizza shop. In the front of my head, I was screaming, _"Oh Holy shit, fuck yes,"_ along with some other incoherent half-formed thoughts... most involving a scantily clad Edward.

I felt his teeth tug at my bottom lip, and I let him take control of my lips completely. They were his to do what he wanted with. Before too long, we were a tangled, sweaty mess of pizza sauce and deep panting.

He removed his lips from mine, much to my dismay, and placed them close to my ear.

"I'm sorry, that was-"

Another shiver went through my body from the close proximity of his teeth to my earlobe.

"Nope. Not allowed," I squeaked out, breathing heavily.

I grabbed his hand and, with all of my strength, pulled him out of the booth. A few of the fellow college students were gawking slightly at us, presumably as a result of our previous public display of hotness. I had made my decision. No apologies. No thinking. I needed to have him.

_Now._

He looked at me with a bewildered expression as he reached into his wallet and slammed down three perfectly crisp bills.

"Wait one second," he said in almost a whisper as he leaned down, brow furrowed, looking at the bills on the table.

"Nope." I said.

I grabbed him again and dragged him out the door. As I looked back at him, he had the same panged expression I had seen on his face before he had jumped across the table at me. I had a feeling I could get to like that face.


	8. Kill Two Birds With One Stone EPOV

**~*~ Author's Note ~*~**

You all have been so incredibly patient with me. For those of you reading my other story, you'll know that I had an incident happen at a club a few weeks ago, and am going through legal proceedings to get either a rape and/or sexual harassment charge pushed through. Please go to takebackthenight (dot) org to show support for women's rights at night.

Okay, enough of the banter. I am here for you all, and will most likely be updating again next week.

Oh dear, OCDward had a few issues in that pizza place…

Crazy kick-ass thank you, as always, to my amazing beta kinolaughs.

**~*~ I Have Decided to Kill Two Birds with One Stone~*~**

**EPOV:**

Well, fuck. Why was it that Bella Swan held a propensity to render me a tactless asshole on contact? She completely overwhelmed the intelligent side of my brain that knew what I should and should not do. I had asked the poor girl out to dinner in the middle of the night after she was groped by a nameless scum of the earth.

Smooth, Cullen, really smooth.

I had to attempt to rectify the situation.

Looking down at the hand I held tightly in mine, I dropped it, stopping on the sidewalk and turning towards her. Introductions were inevitably in order.

"I'm Edward Cullen, Alice's brother," I said diplomatically, thrusting out my right hand for her to take.

As her small hand and delicate white skin touched mine, I felt a shiver go down my spine. I breathed out a sigh of relief, having felt I'd at least started everything over in a more normal way.

"I know," she said, almost scathingly.

The look in her eyes was incomprehensible.

Oh, Cullen, you have dug yourself into a massive black hole. It was a wonder she didn't run away from me just as fast as she had the heathen at the bar.

Words kept coming out of my mouth, but my consciousness was so fogged by her mere presence that, just as with the first night meeting her and demanding an apology to my olives, I couldn't tell you what I said to her.

Something along the lines of being… shuddering to myself here… superior and distinguished.

To no surprise, she snorted in my face. I could cut the tension with a blunt knife, and I was surprised that she was still by my side. Could she not let me wallow in my own self-loathing?

I used to be at peace before she came into my life. A mundane and highly predictable peace, yes, but it was peace nonetheless.

A small part of me missed having each and every second of my day planned, with no surprises waiting to jump out at me, just floating along in the little crap-job of a boat I like to call life.

"Where to, _Mr. Cullen?_"

I was shaken out of my brooding by the sound of her voice against the cool night wind.

Her lovely mouth put emphasis on my name, and instead of the disdain that I should have been feeling from her tone, my heart did a back flip in my ribcage as she nearly tripped over her own feet trying to mock-curtsey.

I felt my mouth crack into a smile. When was the last time I had smiled at anything other than my own successes at completing a day without a compulsive tick? It irked me that I could not remember.

I swallowed, trying to alleviate the lump that had appeared in my throat, and simply stated, "Well, you see, a waitress I had a few nights ago gave back my generous tip, so tonight we dine on only the finest late night culinary extravagances Chicago has to offer."

It was selfish. It was calculating. I wanted to know why the hell she'd given back my damn tip. Yes, my rich and arrogantly prideful side had received a sharp kick to the balls by her rejection.

In the light the moon gave, and with the streetlight on the corner, I could make out the blush that crept along her cheek. I had to stop myself from reaching out to touch it.

Just like a little kindergartener surrounded by glitter. Don't touch! Keep your hands under control.

The next words out of her mouth were apologetic in nature, though I couldn't quite concentrate on what exactly those words had turned out to be when she moved her lips so fervently. I was picturing things I had no right to think of.

But I was a young man… a young man with an extremely gorgeous woman in front of him, at that.

Moot point.

I laughed nervously, trying to dispel any of her apologies or explanations. If anyone were to apologize for their actions the other night, it would have to be me. That simply wasn't my normal behavior.

Running my fingers through my hair, I began to grow nervous… I'm sure I called myself an insufferable ass somewhere in my musings to her.

We walked a few more paces down the dark sidewalk until we found the place I had been searching for.

Edward Cullen does not do pizza. Edward Cullen does not do cheap. Edward Cullen overheard his sister talking about how a certain roommate adored a certain pizza place… and therefore…

"Voila, madam, the best late-night, college-area cuisine in Chicago."

I showed her through the door into my own personal hell. But being in hell with an angel wasn't so bad, and I was at the point where I would do anything to keep her, to make her happy. Even if it meant eating in a grungy, hole-in-the-wall place where employee hygiene was questionable at best.

My nose wrinkled slightly as I pulled out the old wooden chair for her. I blamed my hormones on my brash decision of dinner choice, and my annoyance on my little chemical imbalance.

I never ate out. _Ever._ I cooked at home because I could control it.

I could place the plates where they belonged, fill the glasses to the right height, and make sure the food was the right temperature and at the right place on the table. If I ever _were_ to make an exception and venture outside of my apartment, it would not be to indulge in a sloppy marinara, grease-filled buffet.

"What?" I asked as I took in the look on Bella's face. She had an eyebrow cocked at me, and my nerves suddenly began jerking with the panic that I may have overheard Alice wrongly, that she might think me an imbecile for taking her to a place like this.

I certainly felt like one.

"Nothing, it's just… well… I didn't take you to be a big pizza connoisseur is all."

Her light tinkling voice made me smile yet again. I was surprised those muscles hadn't stopped working in the past few years. I felt myself wink involuntarily at her as I forced myself to pick up a grease-encrusted, germ-infested menu.

My heart beat in my chest unbearably. Two hundred billion germs per square centimeter, half of which were probably infectious. Bacteria that could be transferred through hands, and since only around twenty percent of the population even washes their hands…

I dropped the menu back on the table, and with a trembling breath muttered, "It's all for you, Bella."

She couldn't know the true depths of that statement. Olives and menus and structure were trivial to her, yet vital to me. I wanted her so badly to understand that everything, every single step I had taken tonight, was excruciatingly painful.

She looked rather confusedly back at me across the table.

"Why?" she asked, her small voice permeating the air.

Why?

Why did she make me give up my routines? Why did she make me fly to Alaska? Why did she have me get into bar fights and sit at a scrungy restaurant that made my every sense cry out in protest?

I couldn't put the "why" into words, and luckily the waitress arrived before I had to make an attempt to.

And then I was being assaulted with a pair of fake balloons. I almost heaved into my napkin at the smell of her shirt, doused in cheap perfume, and the puckering of her epidermis caused by the obvious augmentation. I was taken out of my discomfort by Bella's muted exclamation,

"Ridiculous."

And indeed, the whole situation was just that. I wanted to throw the waitress into a pond to see if she'd float… or drown. The latter didn't seem so grim a thing.

"I don't think they have that one on the menu, sadly," I said, cracking an involuntary grin at Bella while sidling away from the travesty of a chest in front of me.

"What are you in the mood for?" I asked, yet again scooting my chair another six inches away from the buxom waitress as she pressed her breasts against the grimy table top.

"Veggie, I guess? Ah, but no, erm, olives."

Was she trying to bring up the olive I'd left her? Or, was she trying to poke fun at me?

"Right. No olives," I said, almost stiflingly. The waitress had now pushed her breasts inches from my nose. I briefly wondered what she would do if I sneezed on the unnatural lumps. In the end, I figured she was whoring herself for attention enough as it was. Better to not make eye contact at all.

Part of me wondered if I could pull an ostrich move and hide my head in the proverbial sand. Maybe she would get the hint then.

I tried to initiate conversation after the gonorrhea-infested waitress had left; circling in on the one subject that Bella and I seemed to talk about the most.

Olives.

How eloquent of me.

After deducing that she, in fact, did not like olives one bit, I chided back to her, "See? You weren't even cussing at me the other night. It was simply your mere prejudice against olives shining through."

My face cracked into an unknown jovial grin. I would like to believe that she thought I was smiling at the fact that I had made a joke, but in reality I was smiling in order to convince myself that… just maybe… she hadn't been as affronted by me as I once thought.

And I was assumedly smiling like a maniac. The poor girl was stumbling over her words, barely able to get a sentence out, and I feared it was because my visage was more compatible to the Joker than to a normal college student.

Part of me wanted to shout out, "Why so serious?"

The other part of me killed the horrible sense of humor I seemed to encompass.

"So, why exactly did you decide to take me to dinner in the middle of the night? And why the hell did you go away for so long? Why did you give me that hundred dollar bill? Why'd you leave the olive?"

Ummm….

My pulse came to a complete stop. I could feel my hands grow clammy in my lap as I grasped for the answers.

Quite honestly, the true reasons would go as such: Because I love you, I painfully love you, I desperately love you… and…well, I just fucking love you.

But I had a feeling that wouldn't go over quite so well, so I concocted some bullshit ironic things to spew out to her.

And, unsurprisingly, she didn't accept a single one of them.

"So, you're not going to tell me?" she demanded, having shoved a piece of pizza into her perfected cupid's bow mouth, letting her tongue lick the remnants off of her fingers.

"Not yet," I stated tersely. No, if she was still with me now with all of the antics I had pulled, who was to say she could take any more?

Yes, Bella, I have severe OCD, get ulcers from Rosalie infesting my shower with her "erotic rose petal" body scrubs, try constantly to wipe up Emmett's dribble from his own chin, oh, and it was the hardest thing in the world for me to leave that olive for you.

Yeah, I sound completely sane.

"Ooh, man of mystery," she said as she rolled her eyes.

Her exclamation was almost lost on me. She had been working on the pizza that I honestly could not bring myself to touch. It was cut all wrong. Each piece should have been at a forty-five degree angle, the vegetables evenly dispersed, the sauce staying on the pie…

But it had been cut like a bad horror film victim, and there were more mushrooms on the top half of the pizza than the bottom half. Glutinous sauce was spilling all over the place.

And for the first time in my life, I wasn't concentrating on the imperfection in the food, well, not as much as I normally would. My eyes lingered on the small smudge of sauce against Bella's little pink lips.

I wanted to do two things at once. A very large, very medication-needed part of me wanted to get rid of the imperfection on the plane of her face, while a tiny, yet ever persistent sliver of me only wanted to touch her lips with mine.

I felt my fingers begin to pick up their normal tempo.

Pointer. Ring. Middle. Pinky.

Melodiously and furiously tapping, trying desperately to control my impulse.

"Shit, I'm sorry. Did I say something? Sometimes I take things a bit too far. Sorry if I offended you or anything."

She was apologizing to me. Again. With all of my might, and with the strength it took me to leave the olive on the table for her, I forced my fingers to stop moving.

"Don't," I tried to push out of my mouth. This was all my fault. Nothing to do with her. And as my world came crashing down on me, a small voice in the back of my head said furiousy…

_Fuck, just kill two birds with one stone, goddamnit, and kiss her already!_

Shaking out my fingers from performing their usual routine, I reached across the table and cupped her face in my palm. Pulling her forcefully into me, I felt our lips make contact.

My tongue darted out hesitantly, licking away the marinara that smudged the right side of her mouth. She was salty and sweet and delicious all at the same time. I was relieved that the imposing smudge of sauce was gone, but that held no comparison to the feeling of ecstasy I felt by kissing Bella Swan.

I grasped onto the offending pizza platter, wanting its flaws to be nowhere near the perfection that was Bella. I heard a crash as the plate broke against the side of the wall. For the first time in my life, I didn't care about the broken dish, didn't care that it wasn't perfect, didn't count each severed piece and rush to put it back together. I had Bella in my arms, and for the time being, it was enough for me.

But the catalyst to my kissing her had been… because I couldn't deal with a simple pizza sauce. A lump formed in my stomach, and I began to think that this was all wrong. I had, yet again, failed in separating my disorder from my feelings.

Not being able to handle some marinara was no reason to kiss the beautiful girl before me. With extreme agitation, I detangled my fingers from her hair, pulling my nose to the side of her face.

"I'm sorry, that was-" I sputtered near her ear as I pushed away from her grasp.

"Nope. Not allowed," her tiny voice said as she looked me dead in the eye.

Her hand grasped mine so hard that I felt as if I would lose circulation. My head was reeling, and I felt that everything had gone so wrong… yet so twistingly right… that I was stunned by her bold movements.

I felt my hand grab for my wallet and I threw a few bills down on the table.

A ten and two fives.

The ten laying at least four inches away from the fives, the fives laying at different angles, one head up and one face down.

My fingers itched to arrange them. I had to arrange them. There had been so much change tonight and I could calm myself down by creating some sort of structure.

"Wait one second," I said breathlessly, looking at the bills on the table and twitching to pull the ten to the two fives, face side up, numbers pointing to the right, five, five—

"Nope," she said.

Before I could blink, I was out the door, looking at her. I was sure she could see my distress, and although the only thing I should have been thinking of was the fact that the girl I was so infatuated with was dragging me out with her in the middle of the night, the most insistent part of my brain could not turn off.

Five. Five. Ten.

Face up. Numbers out.

Complete. Failure.


	9. Broken BPOV

**~*~ Author's Note~*~**

Yay! Am finally back to posting more regularly. I'll probably have another chapter up by the end of the week, but no guarantees. Thanks so much to everyone for the support you've shown both me and my writing.

Reviews are like tequila. They make me happy and make me want to dance around with my top off…

Amazing thank you to my beta, kinolaughs. Check out her stuff. If it weren't for her, you probably wouldn't be reading this right now.

**~*~ Broken~*~**

**BPOV:**

I was standing alone at midnight outside of a sketchy pizza shop. _Alone._ Had I really been going at it gung-ho with the boy of my dreams on a restaurant table only moments before? Weaving my hands through my hair where Edward's had been a few seconds ago, I pulled down on my roots and fought the urge to scream.

I felt as if I would die of embarrassment.

It had been so empowering, so passionate; to thrust the boy I had such an attraction to out of the door. With utmost certainty, I had planned on dragging him back to my apartment… until he wrenched his hand out of mine and headed back into the pizza place without a word.

Turning back to the door, I took two steps, then turned again and took two steps back to the curb. I think I repeated this around four times.

"Should I go in and see if he's alright?" I mumbled to myself through the chatter of my teeth in the cold night air.

But what if he was perfectly fine? What if he just didn't want to leave with me? Oh God, what had I said to make him so repelled by me?

As I bit my lower lip, partially from the cold and partially to keep the tears from spilling, I shoved my hands deep into my pockets, shrugged my shoulders up to my ears, and began heading down the alleyway back to my apartment.

I passed a bum, who was curled up on an old, flayed out cardboard box. He waved jovially at me, sloshing a pint of whiskey in his hand, and gave me a toothless grin. I picked up my pace immediately.

All I wanted to do was crawl into my bed, lay in the fetal position while whimpering to myself, and eventually slump into the kitchen to eat a tub of Ben and Jerry's.

"Gah!" I screamed as I stomped my feet into the concrete below me.

Letting my frustration ring out through my lungs felt good, and I sucked in a large breath of the cool Chicago air and began again.

"MotherfuckingBellashitstupidsociallyawkwardBellaidiotgoddamncrazyBellaperson!"

I kicked out my feet against the brick wall of a side building, round-housing the shit out of it. I think I might have broken a few toes. The tip of my left Converse caught in between the cracks of one of the bricks, and I flailed backwards, landing straight on my ass.

"Oomph!"

My hands were still gripping the strands of my hair, and I'm sure if anyone had walked by they would, indeed, think I was a "crazy Bella person". As it were, I was all alone and might actually enjoy the company of one of the local bums or—

"Oh Jesus, Bella. Are you alright?" A pair of strong hands pushed through the spaces between my arms and my waist, lifting me back onto my feet. My nose caught the familiar scent of musk and sex and salvation.

"What were you doing?"

Oh. God.

I attempted to pull myself together, shrugging out of Edward's grasp as I smoothed back my hair. I fought the blush that intended to creep onto my cheeks, and I turned around to look at the person I thought had left me for good.

"I might ask you the same question," I shot back at him, failing at hiding the quiver in my voice and the liquid that had built up in my tear ducts. A very insecure part of me wondered if he had gone back into the restaurant to get the number of the busty waitress.

"I… I had to… take care of something."

Waitress had duly been dubbed Slutty McFake Boobs in my mind as of now. Why else would he feel it so necessary to go back into the restaurant without as much as a word to me?

"Oh," I said timidly, "I guess I can understand. I mean, I get it."

I thrust out my hand to him, hoping he'd just shake it and get it over with so I could go die of humiliation peacefully.

"Thank you so much for the dinner. It was great. Bye."

I said the last few sentences in a rush as he stared with worried eyes at my out-thrust hand.

His gaze slowly lifted from my hand to my eyes, and I felt myself being lost once more in a pool of emerald green. Although this time was different. The beauty and sincerity in his eyes made my heart pound with hurt. My toes weren't the only thing that had broken in the past few minutes.

"Bella," he said, grabbing my still outstretched hand and placing it on his face. His lids fluttered closed for a brief moment. Seconds turned to minutes, minutes to hours, and hours to days. I could have stayed with my hand on his cheek and his hand cradling mine for all of eternity.

"Bella," he murmured once more, pulling me deeper into his eyes until I thought I might drown. They seemed torn; tortured. I was expecting the brush off at any minute.

He cleared his throat, and took my hand off his cheek and into his, encompassing it in his warmth.

"Let's… let's get you home."

And there it was. Right there. Ultimate failure.

However, he kept my hand in his as we trudged up the lonely alleyway back towards the bar to my apartment. My fingers began to throb with the lack of circulation. He seemed to be holding on for dear life. I chalked it up to how awkward he must be feeling; escorting a girl home that he had no interest in whatsoever.

We walked in silence, his palm pushing into mine from time to time. I was feeling eternally grateful that I lived so close by. I had been praising the same fact around twenty minutes ago, but for extremely different reasons.

My heart plunked dejectedly with each footstep we took up the stairs to the second floor. When we reached the front of my door, I felt a tingling sensation in my fingers as Edward let go of my hand.

"Well, look, I had a great time, and I'm really sorry if I made anything awkward or said anything that offended you. I'm like that sometimes and half the time I don't know what's coming out of my mouth anyway. I mean, you probably knew that from the first night you met me, but I just wanted to say that I appreciate you—"

My blundering, rushed speech was cut off by the most wonderful sensation I had ever felt in my life. It wasn't rushed, it wasn't heavy, it wasn't even very well received… as I had still tried to continue to talk for the first few seconds. It was simply calming and beautiful and right. Edward's lips were embracing mine, slowly enveloping my bottom lip in a cradle of electricity.

"You apologize too much, you know that?" he said, breaking away from me and cocking his eyebrow upward towards his hairline.

"Sorry," I said.

His face cracked into a smile, his eyes dancing as they touched mine.

I giggled, grunted, and blushed all at the same time.

Ugh. I wanted to face palm myself right then and there.

"Goodnight," he said in a faint whisper, kissing me lightly on the forehead and turning back to the staircase.

"Yeah," was all that I managed to get out of my mouth.

I slid the keys into the hole and pushed the door open. I had some serious processing to do. The ice cream still sounded like a good idea. I shrugged off my coat, flipping my purse onto the couch when—

"Ouch! Shit, Bella, that was my ass!"

I hurriedly clicked on the living room light and immediately wished I hadn't. I was, most literally, cheek to cheek with more of Jasper than I _ever_ wanted to see.

"Oh God, Jasper!" I turned away immediately, shielding my eyes from view and trying to gain my composure. Could this night get any more demented?

I heard a slight thud of feet on the hardwood floor, a shuffling of clothes off the ground, and a click of a bedroom door. I felt safe to turn around.

"Oops, sorry Bella," Alice tittered, having covered herself with the blanket that usually hung on the back of the couch. Alice's mom had sewn that for us as a house warming present. Something told me that Esme would be none too happy with its use tonight.

"Really, Alice, I mean, we both have bedrooms. You are going to have to really disinfect that couch. I'm serious this time. No flipping over the cushions like last month, because you're only allowed one flip, otherwise it doesn't—"

For about the millionth time that night I was interrupted. There was a knock on the door, and I gave what I hoped was a death-glare at Alice before peeking through the peephole. I was met with two brilliantly green eyes. Without thinking, I threw open the door.

"Um, I just wanted, well, needed to ask you, are you free next Friday?"

I nodded my head up and down like a love struck puppy dog.

"Okay," he smiled warmly, "I'll give you a call during the week to let you know what I have in mind."

Without stepping across the threshold, he merely angled himself through the doorway and touched his lips briefly to mine.

"Goodnight, Alice. Don't catch a cold or mom will skin me alive," he said, shooting a glance at my roommate who had balled the covers up to her chin into her little hands.

With one last wink at me, he pulled his upper body back out of the apartment, flipped up his coat collar, and began to go back down the stairs. It took me two whole minutes to close the door.

"_So_," said Alice, mischievously wiggling her eyebrows back and forth, "dish."

"Hmmm, I might. Just give me a second while I wash the image of Jasper's white butt out of my mind with help from my good friend Cherry Garcia," I said pointedly as I shuffled towards the freezer.

"Bella, please refrain from talking about my southern bits and desserts in the same sentence. Alice'll get ideas," Jasper drawled, walking back into the living room fully clothed and tossing one of his shirts to Alice.

"I don't even wanna know," I said, digging through the freezer.

My hand brushed the frozen Ziploc bag that held Edward's olive as I searched for the carton of ice cream. Edward definitely had the capability to make me feel self-conscious and confused most of the time, but being able to be with him in any shape or form made all of the absurdities worthwhile.

_Sorry, Cherry, you come in at a close second._


	10. Be Selfish EPOV

**~*~ Author's Note ~*~**

Yeah, so I'm on effing cloud 9. The verdict on the case some of you are familiar with came out, and the guy got 7 years, hooray. I am now officially on , awesome. My summer classes are finally finished, relieved… and I have the best readers in the world!

And give a big hand to my beta, Kinolaughs. She took the time out of her busy schedule to help me polish this chapter up!

**~*~I Have Decided to Be Selfish~*~**

**EPOV:**

I had tried to fight it at the bar, I had tried to fight it during dinner, and I had tried to fight it as my lips grazed the closest thing to paradise they had ever touched. I tried to fight and I fucking_ lost_. I lost by one point in overtime at the championship game.

Score Cullen: 0

The girl of my dreams basically dragged me out of the pizzeria, a look so wild in her eyes that it made my Adam's apple clench with want. Did I think of the way she would feel against me, the way her hair would swish around my face, enveloping me completely? Of course I did. I wanted so much just to reach out and touch every little piece of her skin I could get my hands on—

But the goddamn dollars, strewn out all over the table, seemed to scream at me from all sides....

And there had been the menus, and the cut of the pizza, and the sauce, and the waitress, and so many multitudes of little things that seemed to suffocate me little by little until I was drowning in a sea of insanity.

Where was I and what the fuck was I doing? My fingers shook with adrenaline as I bent over the rickety table where I had left the bills. They were nowhere to be found.

_Ah, well kudos to them, they must have eloped along with your dignity._

I hadn't done something this openly odd in years, and as much as I hated myself for it, I also knew that Bella was outside, wondering what the hell I'd been smoking. Like two disgusting beacons, a couple of plastic sacks bulging out under stretched flesh, showing me the way, I caught sight of the waitress.

This was going to get awkward.

"Excuse me, Miss?" I literally screamed at the girl, not wanting to contaminate my hand by touching her.

"Oh, hey you. Did ya forget something?" She fluttered her eyes ridiculously, while plumping out her breasts yet again.

I pinched the bridge of my nose with my fingers and muttered. "This is going to sound insane, but do you mind placing the money I left back on the table for a few moments?"

"Honey, whatever you want."

She fucking had the audacity to wink at me as she attempted to sashay back to the table. Reaching into her apron, she laid the bills back down on the table, then turned around, her back leaning against its edge.

"You need anything else, you just let me know," she said with a little giggle.

I tried with all of my might to swallow down any sort of sarcastic remark begging to be let out, knowing full well that she'd probably take it as an advance.

As she walked away slowly, I turned my eyes to the bills. My chest heaved as I let out a deep sigh, feeling each small piece of soft paper that held me captive. With each flick of the wrist and each movement of paper, my breathing decreased, and I felt free again.

Ten…five centimeters…five… five centimeters…five…five centimeters. Hamilton smiling benignly down on twin Lincolns; crisp, clean edges creating its own perfect square.

My heart was completely elated as I ran hurriedly towards the front door. I would be fine now and I could act somewhat normal around Bella. I smiled slightly to myself, indulging in a replay of our encounter over the greasy pizza as my face stung with the impact of the Chicago night air.

Bella wasn't there.

I knew it would only be a matter of time, knew that at one point or another she would get sick of all the psychotic things I had subjected her to. I knew it, and yet I grimaced as the true pain of it stabbed through me.

Shrugging my coat jacket up to my ears, I began power-walking down the alleyway.

So this was it. If I'd ever had a chance to truly be with someone I felt as if it had been with Bella. And I fucking blew it. I would, most definitely, end up desolate and alone with ten cats.

Except for the fact that I fucking hate cats. The way they needily rub up on your leg and have a nasty affinity for—

"Oomph!"

It was possibly the most beautiful, the most hysterical, and the most worrisome vision I had ever seen. Bella, her foot flying up over her head as she clutched onto her hair, landing squarely on her ass on the sidewalk. Beautiful because she was there, hysterical because, well, the sight was pretty damn comedic, and worrisome because I had a feeling it had something to do with me.

Also worrisome because it may have absolutely _nothing_ to do with me. At all.

I rushed behind her, reveling in the fact that I would get to touch her yet again, and gripped between her little arms. I could feel her shaking, and her tremble turned into mine as I pulled her up to her feet.

"Oh, Jesus, Bella. Are you alright?" I asked, breathing in the scent of strawberries and wind and sex. God, I couldn't help myself. Attempting to ground myself and the regions below my belt that seemed all too eager to respond, I cleared my throat and asked, "What were you doing?"

I'm not sure what I meant by the question. A large part of me wondered if she would respond by saying, _"Walking away from your crazy ass, of course."_

Instead, she shocked me yet again with her boldness by stating coldly, "I might ask you the same question."

So there it was. She had finally gotten sick of my antics, disgusted by the impulses I tried so hard to keep locked away from her. A brief part of me wondered if Alice had been able to keep her mouth shut at work, if she had kept her word that she would be discreet.

Part of me hoped that she hadn't, then Bella could realize how severely fucked up I was without me having to tell her myself. I struggled to push any sort of sentence out of my mouth.

"I... I had to... Take care of something."

And great; I sounded like a serial killer. Oh, sorry, Bella, that I ran away from you. Just had to murder a few people, hire a couple hit men, go visit my shrine of crimes past. The usual.

Her cheeks seemed as if they were burning a brilliant red as I looked hopefully into her eyes, willing her to understand that there was more to me than I had let her see.

"Thank you so much for dinner. It was great. Bye," she said in a clipped voice, thrusting out her hand.

If I thought I had lost her before, it was nothing compared to the onset of emotions I was feeling at that very second. I couldn't just let her go, face to face. I was growing accustomed to the fact that I had begun to need her just as much, if not more, than my silly, ridiculous compulsions.

Had I not said before that I would fight? That I would man-up and fucking grow a pair?

I looked into those beautifully hurt brown eyes and touched her outstretched hand with a tentative hold. If she was going to leave me, I at least needed to feel her against me once more. With a short breath, I pulled her hand up to my cheek.

It was so small and warm.

I could tell her. I could let go of everything and explain.

"Bella," I said, willing myself to get the words out, to let her see just how complicated my twisted little mind was.

"Bella," I murmured again. I could tell her, and maybe she would understand, maybe she would smile and say she knew all along.

Maybe she would be repulsed by my hang-ups and keep trudging down the dark alleyway. For some reason, losing her without her knowing all of me seemed so much easier than her rejecting the complete mess of a person that I am.

"Let's... Let's get you home," I said, taking her hand from my face and resolving my silence. No, she didn't have to know. I could keep on pretending. Keep on being selfish.

Her eyes dropped from mine as she started to walk. I kept her hand in mine, halfway wondering whether she would run away from me if I let go.

_Way to fuck everything up, Cullen, and for what? A couple numbers on some crumpled pieces of paper? Way to go._

We walked in complete silence, the light tap of her sneakers walking in sync with my paces.

God, she's beautiful.

God, you're so damn selfish.

God, I just stepped on a crack. _Fuck._

God, she's perfect.

With each little thought in my mind, I felt my hand spasm around hers. I think I was holding onto her physically in order to keep her entwined with me. Yeah, now I'm a nutcase _and_ a really creepy date.

As we walked up the steps to her apartment, my brow creased in complete confusion. She stopped at the door of my sister's apartment. I dropped her hand in shock, wondering when the hell Alice had planned on telling me this little piece of information. She was too conniving for her own good.

Alice and I would have to talk.

I was cut off from my reflections by a torrent of sentences spurting from Bella's mouth. She seemed flustered, and I caught little phrases like "really sorry", "offended you", and "appreciate you".

Bella was apologizing? What universe had I stepped into? My heart broke at the thought of her feeling like any of this crazy mess was her fault. It was then that I did the most natural thing that has ever come to me.

No tick. No trigger. No ulterior motive. No obsession or compulsion.

I kissed her. My neck exploded into tiny goosebumps as I felt her soft lips against mine, and I had to try with all my might to fight back the tears of relief that were threatening to break through.

I was able to be with her, to touch her, to kiss her, without being preempted by my own thoughts.

"You apologize too much, you know that?" I said to her, wanting her to know that absolutely nothing she had done could make me dislike her. Each thing that she had worried about were the very things that made me smile.

"Sorry," she blushed.

And that's what I did. I smiled like a fucking homeless man that just found a shiny new shopping cart.

"Goodnight," I said, kissing her lightly on the forehead and touching my nose against her hairline. I needed to leave, needed to keep the botched pieces of the night sewn together as much as I possibly could.

I walked down the stairs, and heard the door creak open. Part of me wanted to run back up to her, to stay with her just a little longer. That's when my cell phone buzzed in my pocket.

_Ummm... I just got completely cock-blocked. Freaking grow a pair and either ask her out again, or come and get her so I can have Jasper all to myself._

Alice.

I brushed off the disturbing mental picture spawned by my sister's complaint that I ruined her little sexcapade, then pondered what she'd sent me.

Yes, I was concerned about leaving the night where it was at, letting it be a little patchy, but decent nonetheless. But Bella deserved more than "decent". She deserved everything that I could give.

So I marched back up the stairs and knocked on the door.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

I was met with a bewildered and glowing Bella.

"Um, I just wanted, well, needed to ask you, are you free next Friday?"

I smiled as she nodded her head up and down. Fucking adorable.

After promising to call her within the week, I leaned in from the doorway, cautious to not step over the threshold. I'd done enough compulsive things tonight, and the last thing I needed to do was to complicate it more by walking into her apartment.

Our lips met once more, but I couldn't reach her as I wanted to, deeply taste her like I _needed_ to, because the smile refused to leave my face.

"Goodnight, Alice. Don't catch a cold or mom will skin me alive," I winked mischievously at her, giving her my _"You've got some serious explaining to do"_ look as I leaned back out of the doorway.

It took me approximately twenty seconds to reach the main landing of the complex. It took Bella approximately one minute and forty seconds after that to shut the door. I squinted up at the cracked door when the stairs ended, and I caught sight of a piece of Bella's beautifully tangled hair being whipped against the door frame by the wind.

It may not have meant anything to her, but I beamed at the fact that she hadn't shut the door on me… not yet.


	11. Sip and Chew BPOV

~***~ Author's Note ~*~**

Urgh, pissed that I haven't updated sooner. I'm still very much with the story but... for purely selfish reasons... have had a hard time updating. That's right, browniechadowes is in a relationship with a guy who accepts her nerdiness and ridiculously annoying OCD. Go figure, good guys _do _exist.

A very VERY much appreciated thank you to **KINOLAUGHS**, who made this chapter oh so much better than the cringe worthy, brownie-lurve-infatuation high version it would have been. Ugh, browniechadowes' writing skills go down when she's preoccupied with a yummy bf that lets her alphabetize and color coordinate everything in his posession.

Adam deserves a huge pat on the back as well for putting up with my giddiness. (And if you're reading this... which you are... you're such a girl for being on a twilight ff site... awesome)

**~*~Sip and Chew~*~**

**BPOV**

This wasn't the first time I'd thought it, but I was pretty sure that Edward Cullen wasn't being completely straight with me. From the olive and the hundred dollar bill, to the scenario in the pizza place, to the way he refused to step into my apartment, instead opting to hover like some random UFO spacy-crap-craft... Something wasn't right.

"Alice?"

"Mmmm," Alice answered me, lazily making eye contact with me from above her book.

"When you said Edward had a certain way of doing things, what exactly did you mean?"

If anyone knew him, it would be his sister. Was I feebly trying to figure out anything about him by any means? Yes. Did I feel bad about it? No.

"Bella, if he hasn't told you, I'm not going to," she said, flicking her gaze between me and her art nouveau textbook that was propped against Jasper's legs.

I wanted to scream, pull out my hair. I knew there was something that wasn't being said. I hated myself for not letting him tell me in his own time, but I started to resent him even more for not trusting me in the first place.

"You should. I'm about to give up, Alice. Seriously, how many guys are on campus? And how many have more in common with me than your brother? All I've gotten from Edward are a bunch of mixed signals... It goes from him seemingly hating me to being interested in me like a roller coaster. I'm done with it. You know I don't deal with drama well at all."

And I didn't. Bella + drama = Bella crawling under her bed and becoming antisocial for at least a month.

I took a calming breath before elaborating, in fear of resorting to above solution.

"Alice, you know as well as anyone how stressed I am. What with coming up with tuition money and keeping up my scholarship, I just don't know if I have it in me to work basically full time, keep up with homework, _and_ delve into the seemingly complex person that is your brother."

I raised my eyebrows in mock tribulation at my last comment... Well, alright, maybe I hadn't said it in too sarcastic a tone. It was starting to become increasingly difficult that I was spending most of my free time trying to piece together a person I'd only known for two weeks while neglecting my ever-looming final paper.

But I had comfort in that I was finally voicing my hesitation. It was all out. Everything that I had wanted to say and, thankfully, Alice's pensive blue eyes seemed to penetrate me. She gave one of her small sighs, glancing at Jasper, considerably for his approval.

He nodded his head curtly, twiddling the tin can of Scoal in his right hand, as she said, "Bella, Edward has a psychological issue. Ever since he was basically out of diapers, every single thing he does has been determined by his compulsions. He tries desperately to live his life on his own, tries to live without being tethered down by his OCD. He tried medication for awhile... And it really affected him. He didn't feel the need to organize my tampons in color coordinated, expiration date order,"

Alice giggled slightly, trying, ever as Alice would, to diffuse the tense situation with humor. I rolled my eyes at her and motioned for her to go on.

"But he also didn't care if they were scattered all over the living room floor either. He was just... there. Not Edward. Not really anyone. He went about his daily motions without smiling or frowning. He was so numb to everyone that I couldn't even recognize him as the brother that I obviously love. He was too numb, didn't feel anything."

Alice's eyes gave the far away glance that they seemed to do ever so often, but before I could ask anything of her, she snapped her eyes to me and stated,

"So he decided to live with his disorder anti-med style. No buffer. No explanations. Do you realize how hard it is for him just to live ordinarily? To go down the street without randomly needing to perform one of his compulsive rituals? And that's only the beginning of it. You know how many people joke about obsessive compulsive disorder?"

Her question was open-ended, and my brain was flooded with Edward's past actions. I'd had no idea why he did what he did. Half the time I had assumed the reason for our awkwardness was due to the fact that, when put in social situations (especially with a rather amazingly sexy boy) I have had no idea what I'm doing.

But if he wouldn't tell me about some seemingly trivial obsessive disorder because he didn't feel like he could trust me to understand ... Well, that hurt, to say the least.

I snorted with my newly found insulted feelings as I replied, "OCD? _That's_ the reason he's acted so strangely? OCD? That's the reason why I finished off a tub of Cherry Garcia and kept a frozen olive in our fridge? OCD? God, it's not like he's a goddamn murderer."

My pride was hurt. My ego was hurt. He didn't trust me with who he truly was... And neither, apparently, did my best friend. She'd kept it from me from day one. It was complete bullshit and I said as much.

"Bullshit or not, not many people know the true extent of the problem. It's not just about washing your hands excessively or avoiding stepping on cracks. His disorder consumes everything he decides to do. Everything that he is."

Alice's eyes pierced mine, tears swimming behind her knowing gaze.

"Well, he obviously doesn't trust me enough to let me know what he's really thinking," I mumbled, halfway to myself.

"But don't you get it Bella?" Alice asked strongly, detangling herself from Jasper and standing up to meet me in the kitchen. She tapped her finger to his palm before leaving him completely.

I was lost. It was all I could do to shake my head no in confusion.

"He wants you so much... he just... Edward... he... he doesn't want to screw up what he might have going with you. You know, he never used to talk to me before, but after meeting you... well... I seriously can't even get the boy to shut up."

Okay, so I raise my hand as guilty for being a little more than happy that Alice had described Edward as "wanting me so much," but goddamnit, I had decided to hold my ground. Sexy Edward would not loosen my resolve.

I couldn't help but feel the frustration radiating off of my best friend.

After rolling her eyes, Alice walked resignedly back over to the (still besmirched and un-cushion flipped... might I add) couch, slumping into the armrest, seemingly defeated.

Jasper scrunched up the back of Alice's short hair, mussing it lovingly while whispering something into her ear. Alice smiled and Jasper's toes started tapping to the rhythm of the country song in the background.

My eyes followed the track of Jasper's toes with complete consuming jealousy. I wanted it to be that easy for me. I wanted it to be that easy for us. My heart broke as I realized that the very essence of the person I'd become so entranced with didn't want me to see the real him in any way at all.

If Edward's disorder was to the extent that Alice thought it was, then everything that consumed that, and everything it entailed, was exactly what I'd fallen in love with.

Screw everyone if they didn't trust me to realize what a great person he truly was.

God, no one gives me any credit.

Fuck.

****************************************************

I was expecting to wait, fingernail biting included, while I watched for my phone to light up with his number. It was Monday, and he said he'd call within the week. Instead of being patient, my feet lead me to Alice's directory, where Edward's number was conveniently placed. Once, I got close enough to dialing the number on my phone. When I heard the ringing tone, I hung up.

Despite my doubts and anxiety, I wasn't left in suspense for even twenty-four hours. Slinging my apron around my waist, I took a deep breath, ignoring Rosalie's "These are the ways that Bella's fucked up in the past week" diatribe to the new staff, and made my way to my first table. Trying to block the conversation over broken margarita glasses out of my mind, I hurried to my section in a blur.

"Ah," a familiar voice nearly whispered. The delicately masculine hands grasped the menu as two familiar eyes peeked up at me from the top of the paper, the darkest shade of green.

"Martini. Dry. Dirty. With-"

"Three sticks, five olives on each. Fifteen sips per drink," I said breathlessly into his gaze. Ever since Alice had opened up about him, I had been trying to figure out as much as I could about the elusive Edward Cullen.

His eyes looked back at me, shocked for words. I could hear and see his Adam's apple glug up and down as he tried to make light of what I'd said to him.

"Unless that's not what you want," I said nonchalantly, knowing full well that the drink was all that he would ever order. "I mean, you might want to change it up, especially considering you never come to this bar on a Monday."

Was I needling him, trying to imply that I knew what he was going through... What he dealt with every single second of his life? Of course. Was I scared to death trying to do it without either insulting or belittling him? Of course. I waited with bated breath for his reply.

His fingers began tapping in rhythm on the wooden table. He kept glancing from me to his fingers and back again before locking eyes with me.

"That's all I want," he said in the smallest voice I had ever heard him use. He sounded like a child asking his mother for an extra cookie for dessert.

"I thought so," I said, trying to wink as I walked away from him... But something had caught my eye as I was about to turn away from him, and I ended up doing some wonky pirate "oh look, I've lost an eye... Gaaarrrrhhh" look to him.

Man, I'm sure that was sexy.

I scurried hurriedly over to the other side of the bar, trying to hide myself to no avail in the corner, as I chastised Rosalie in my head for taking so long on his drink. When the martini finally appeared at the end of the bar, it was all I could do to keep from tripping over my sneakers to grab it.

My hand shook furiously as the precious drops of liquid sloshed out of the side of the glass. All I could think to myself was, "One sip he can't have, one sip he needs."

The events from the first night I met him kept replaying in my mind. Of course he was perturbed by his drink then. I had spilt almost half of it out on the tray, not allowing him to complete his ritual. Making his life that much harder.

I placed the martini in front of him; the rim of the bottom of the glass touched the dingy wood as I boldly took the seat across from him at the table.

"So," I tried to begin, my words catching in my throat.

"So," he said back, fiddling one of the sticks between his long fingers, not looking up at me at all.

"I know what you've been dealing with, and I just wanted to let you know that I don't care."

I said the sentence the fastest I could, hoping it would be like a band-aid and hurt less the faster it was ripped off.

"What?" he asked gruffly, glaring at a strand of olives that he had pulled out of his glass.

"I..." I faltered on my words at his look, not sure if I should go on, "I know that you have OCD, and I don't really know why you kept it from me."

Whereas most of me was terrified of what he would say back to me, another part grew proud at the fact that for the first time in my life I was telling someone exactly what I felt.

He stared intently at his glass, and the room seemed to fall silent for a second, a minute, an eternity. His left hand batted at his right eye, smudging the area underneath it. I looked away as his hand made to wipe the tear away.

"I don't know what to say," he told me, matching my downward gaze. For some reason, all I wanted was for him to look directly at me. A la Edward, he, of course, didn't oblige.

If this was the way it was going to be, and if he couldn't trust himself to make a decision or to even put himself out there more than he had before, it would have to be me to make the first move. I shifted in my seat, almost teetering out of it as I leaned towards the right. His drink sloshed onto the table as I caught myself.

_Smooth, Bella. Really great way to make an impression._

"So... Would you like to come to the apartment Wednesday and help me out with some cooking? It's a student's birthday in my lit class and I promised I'd make something for it."

My heart chugged slowly yet furiously hard as I watched Edward sip and chew and sip and chew. He never looked at me, never said a word; just kept his full attention on the drink in front of him. I startled as he twirled the last olive in front of his eyes, and his face broke into a smile. With one last swig of his drink and a slight crinkle in his brow, he popped the olive off of the stick, placing it in between my hands that were resting in front of him on the table.

"As I said before, that's all I want," the sex and honey voice proclaimed to me.

And there it was... Glaring up at me with its red pupil and hazy green iris. The goddamn olive... _the_ olive...

"Shit," I whispered slightly out loud, as the meaning finally dawned on me.

I gaped as the utter simplicity of his actions the day we met shone like a damn light bulb in my head.

One lone olive. Never finished off. A break from the prison that confined him.

No wonder I had kept it.


	12. Add Alice to My Hit List EPOV

**~*~ Author's Note ~*~**

Ugh I know it's been a long time, but with work and classes starting up, it was hard for me to keep up with everything. Promise I'll make it up to you, and have the next chapter out to my beta for reviewing by tomorrow... Or today, however you look at it. It's damn late. Well, as of the 25th then. You should have another update by Friday at the latest.

And that means you may get some sexing, flour, and Edward in a little chocolate-covered OCD fit.

As always, thanks so much to my beta, kinolaughs, who comes through for me even when my writing is severely shitty :/

**~*~I Have Decided to Add Alice to My Hit List~*~**

**EPOV:**

"Well, I have to say this is an unexpected surprise."

Alice's fine-polished nails clicked furiously against the table counter as she looked me over scrupulously while sipping her venti double mocha iced latte, the sound echoing the harsh tone of her voice.

"Hey, sis, you have no room to talk."

Although she did. I had avoided her successfully for the past year. If it hurt me to know the main reason I had agreed to talk to her was for my own selfish reasons, I'm sure it was nothing compared to what she was feeling. However, I tried to push the guilt from my mind, attempting instead to sweep it under the rug.

"The last time I saw you, you were post-defiling the couch our dear mother bought for your apartment. I'm not so sure she'd agree that Jasper's sperm matches the upholstery."

My quip about her sexcapades was a bold move... but a move that would hopefully push the attention off of my flaws.

We were sitting face to face in the cramped coffee shop. After the fiasco that was Bella's and my official first date, I had broken down and decided to pick the brain of someone close to her.

It took all of my effort to do so. However close Alice and I had been in high school, it did not make up for the grudge she had held against me for siphoning myself up into my own little world when I moved to college.

_Hey big brother, I've moved in! Come and say hello whenever you want :)_

_Hey Eddie, I met a guy and want to get a brother's approval. Feel free to beat the shit out of him if you don't approve. When are you free to hang out?_

_Edward, I miss you. Feel free to visit me when you want to. I just moved into my first apartment. My roommate's pretty great. I think you'd like to meet her._

_Family's coming into Chicago. We'll be at Antonio's. Not expecting you to be there, but thought you'd like to know._

I hadn't answered any of her texts. I merely wanted to get away. Away from her, away from my past, away from the person I used to be.

I swallowed my pride and my embarrassment in order to contact her one on one, given my past grievances and the state of my tentative relationship with Bella.

The sugar cube disintegrated in the cup of hot coffee.

One lump. Squeeze the lemon slightly so half goes in, leaving the rind as a crescent, parallel to the saucer.

Cullen _you're_ a fucking idiotic lump.

The sugar frothed in response to the temperature of the liquid, and I swirled the spoon around the cup clockwise furiously while placing the lemon into the saucer simultaneously with my other hand.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

Two taps on the rim and leave the spoon face up at a one eighty degree angle to the lemon crescent.

I had not been in control of any of my compulsions. Each one was manifesting to an extreme I had never experienced whenever I went over the time I had spent with Bella. Having a stressful tête-à-tête with my estranged sister didn't help the nerves either.

"Ugh, Edward, you never used to be able to even talk about my sex life. Has Bella really affected you that much?"

"Yes," I said simply.

Alice smiled slightly, but then her expression became very serious.

"You know, you're my brother and I love you, but I've come to love Bella as a sister too. Seriously, you know how I can tell how things are going to turn out, and I see you two together for the long run... but I know you have issues."

She took a small breath before continuing.

"You run away when you start feeling anything; you bolt and hide inside yourself. If you're not ready to be with her, that's another story, but you seem to be ready to handle it. I swear to God, Edward Anthony Cullen, if you fuck around with her in any way, if you try to blame your compulsive behavior on her, I will have Jasper shoot you with his .45 automatic. Is that clear?"

The sad thing was, she wasn't kidding. He kept it strapped to his thigh at all times.

The telling thing was, she had listed all the reasons I had been hesitant with Bella... and I thought I was the only one who knew those reasons.

The morbidly twisted fact of it all was that I needed to be with her and I didn't give a shit about the risks or the consequences it might cause.

"Clear," I clipped back. It had rung loud and clear.

"So, when are you going to see her? When are you going to tell her?"

My stomach clenched at the last question.

"I'm supposed to call her on Wednesday, I think. I've asked her out on a date for Friday, and I'll tell her where we're going then. As for telling her... Well..."

I grabbed the bridge of my nose, wishing the question would dissolve on its own.

"I... I don't quite know how to go about it. I don't want to be melodramatic, but I don't think she'll understand the extent of it. I'm not sure I'll be able to tell her for awhile. I can at least go on a few more dates with her before having to explain it."

Alice's eyebrows disappeared into her bangs as she looked up at me.

"'Kay," was all she said.

The silence grew uncomfortable between us, and I forced the rest of the coffee to the back of my throat, down to the dregs in the bottom of my cup.

"So..." I said, picking at the napkin beside me.

"So," she said back, her smile morphing into the devilish one I had been accustomed to so long ago, "you're calling her Wednesday?"

"Yes?" I muttered out, more of a question than a response.

"Uh huh," she said decidedly, the knowing smile still on her face. "See you tomorrow, then. She's working a double with me."

Fuck. I really had become that transparent.

***************************************************

I went to the bar, tentatively pushing a hand on the door as I walked in. I had come prepared. Chicago Tribune in hand, I walked to the back of the bar and tried to immerse myself in the latest news. My eyes darted back and forth across the harsh black wording on the page, but I took in nothing.

Because I was busy scanning the crowd for Bella.

My ears pricked up when I caught a flash of Rosalie's blonde curls as she said something about Bella and broken margarita glasses.

_Bella._

Snapping my eyes towards the bar, I caught sight of her chestnut hair and her embarrassed, rosy cheeks headed my way. Trying to be nonchalant, I peered up at her from the Tribune as she came to stand in front of me. I couldn't help it as a quick "ah" at the sight of her along with most of the breath I'd inadvertently been holding.

Keep it together, Cullen. No weirdness. You've made it through pre-med, for God's sake, you can keep it together for a girl.

But she wasn't just "a girl"... She had become "the girl."

I tried to act normally, not knowing if she was still interested after the way I had acted on our date. I debated what to say, and came up with the oh-so-fuckingly-clever:

"Martini. Dry. Dirty. With-"

I was cut off from my practiced recitation by the voice I had been craving and waiting for.

"Three sticks, five olives on each. Fifteen sips per drink."

I felt my throat convulse.

What. The. Fuck?

Was I that transparent? And how the fuck did she know what my ritual was, what I needed?

I could feel my eyes popping out of my skull. She stood there, looking damn amazing and perfect, pointing out one of the compulsions I had relied on so readily, thinking that no one would notice.

"Unless that's not what you want. I mean, you might want to change it up, especially considering you never come to this bar on a Monday."

May I reiterate once more? What. The. Fuck?

She knew about the olives. She knew about the sips. She knew how many sips and how many olives. She knew about my schedule. She knew I never would set foot here on a Monday. She knew everything.

_Everything._

Alice.

I felt the sweat bead up on my forehead as my breathing was cut short. But none of the tell-tale signs of disgust were there. She hadn't withdrawn herself from me, hadn't sneered at my petulant problem, hadn't ran off to gossip back at the bar with her colleagues about the crazy boy who seemed to freak out any time she made contact with him...

No, she seemed, well, happy and a little smug. Smug?

My neurosis died down slightly, and I felt the panic dissipate. I couldn't remember the last time I had felt this way. Staring back at Bella, who had seemingly encompassed all of who I was without question, all I felt was...

What's the fucking word?

Ah, relieved.

If she was aware of my situation, if I could dare myself to believe that she knew and didn't care, then I could start being honest with her.

"That's all I want," I whispered back, moreso towards answering my own mental musing than her question.

The metaphor that was in direct correlation to our relationship should be enough. All I ever wanted was stability, all I ever wanted was to live with my compulsions in peace...

And yet, now, all I feel I ever should have wanted is her.

"I thought so," she said lightly, and as she turned away from my table her face scrunched up into what I assumed was supposed to be a wink. Smiling and suppressing a laugh, I waited for her to return with my drink.

Damn it all to fucking hell, I didn't even want the damn drink; I just wanted to be near her, to talk with her. Within seconds my wish was granted as she returned to my table.

"So," she said, putting the martini glass down on the wood table with a slight clinking noise. Almost half of the drink had sloshed out of the glass, and yet, to my surprise, I wasn't worried about the sip to bite ratio.

"So," I retaliated, really not knowing what to say. I took a sip of the cocktail while waiting for her to answer.

"I know what you've been dealing with, and I just wanted to let you know that I don't care."

Wha-?

So Alice's involvement in Bella's finding out about my issue was now confirmed. Had I given my dear sister the benefit of the doubt that she would keep her mouth shut?

Not really. Ever since Bella muttered my ritual, I was pretty sure Alice had been behind it.

Had I wished she would have butted out, so that I could have told Bella everything about me on my own terms?

Yes, yes most definitely. This was yet one more instance where I had failed Bella.

Note to self. Alice is now on my hit list, along with busses that don't come directly on the hour and trying to match up corresponding socks. Socks. Busses. My sister. All going down.

I guess I had muttered some sort of the "wha-?" facsimile to her, because she answered my confusion.

"I know that you have OCD, and I don't really know why you kept it from me."

Because I'm a selfish asshole? Because all I've wanted since I've met you is to try to throw all of my obsessions out the window and just take you somewhere dark and have my way with you? Because you make me insecure and crazy, and for the first time in my life I actually _want _to feel that way?

But I couldn't say that shit. If she knew what I was dealing with, she probably thought me insane enough as it were. I mean, you can't just spurt out to a girl you hardly know,

"Oh yes, well, you see, I've gone on a few fuckingly disastrous dates with you, causing you obvious distress... But don't worry, it's just because I've been somewhat in love with you since our first official date. No sweat. No big deal. Wanna see a movie on Friday?"

Fatal attraction in reverse. She'd be running for the hills. Thank God I can't get pregnant. I'd probably try to pull a Glenn Close on her.

"I don't know what to say," was all that I could mutter while looking at my laced fingers; right fingers above left fingers, left and right pinky joining at the tips in a perfect line... Until they were detached by the shaking of the table, a small portion of my drink slopping onto the table below.

One sip I couldn't have. Five sips I had lost because of her. Five olives I could just fucking throw out if I wanted to. Maybe I could tailor everything to the disruption in my routine that Bella caused. Maybe I could just compensate or substitute.

I knew I was bullshitting myself.

"So... Would you like to come to the apartment Wednesday and help me out with some cooking? It's a student's birthday in my lit class and I promised I'd make something for it."

I had planned on calling her Wednesday. I had planned on seeing her Friday. I had planned on getting through college numb and at the top of the class, a drone of the person I didn't want to be.

The plans were, fucked, and so was I...

But if I were to, indeed, fuck myself over, it better be for a good reason. Bella was the best reason, and I would prove it to her. I felt my forehead crinkle as I forced myself to stop drinking and sipping and drinking and sipping. I downed the rest of the drink, saving one olive and popping it off of the stick. As I placed it between her hands, I hoped with everything I had that she would understand the gesture.

"As I said before, that's all I want."

She looked down at the garnish cradled in between her thumbs, staring it in the eye. It seemed an eternity, and half of me wondered whether she thought I had, indeed, gone mad... or had been mad to begin with. Just as I was about to leave the table, feeling the pit of rejection in my stomach, her voice radiated off of my eardrum.

"Shit," she said simply, staring up at me with knowing eyes, her mouth slightly parted, her breathing deep.

She understood.

And I smiled like a goddamn idiot.

"Shit" was my new favorite word.


	13. Chocolate Chip Cookies BPOV

**~*~ Author's Note ~*~**

Ah here it is. Bella's take on the baking. I would just like to thank everyone for their amazing reviews and praise. It makes my day to get feedback, and seriously... After class and work, reviews can put a smile right back on my oh-so-tired face.

A huge thanks to my beta **kinolaughs**, who always comes through for me, especially when my literary brain is fried from my professors.

So here it is. Flour and chocolate and shirtless Edward. Yummy.

**~*~Chocolate Chip Cookies ~*~**

**BPOV:**

My heart faltered at the five precise knocks on the front door. Alice had promised to be out of the apartment for the whole of the night, insisting that I finish up any homework that may be due on Thursday so I wouldn't be distracted tonight.

"Seriously, Alice, you scheme a little bit more and I'm going to try to write you in for a political office."

The dust had been flying around us, as per Alice's suggestion that we clean the apartment (for the first, and I feared, only time) before her brother arrived.

"No, no, no, you're turning them all wrong," she said agitatedly, twisting all of the empty wine bottles we kept on a shelf in our living room so that the labels were facing front, adjacent to each other.

After what seemed like hours of tedious "Edward-proofing", as Alice was so fond of calling it, the clock struck seven. She hoisted her overnight bag onto her shoulder and made her way to the door.

"Alice?" I called, as she turned the handle on the front door.

"What, hon?" she asked back, her eyes dancing with the exited anticipation that I should have been feeling. Instead, all I felt was nervous and a little jittery.

"I think... Well... What if I fuck it all up?"

She merely smiled, tapping her temple like she always did when she tried to pretend that she knew how everything was supposed to turn out.

"Don't worry, Bell, if anyone fucks anything up, it won't be you."

And with those final words, she was out the door. The sound of the weather-repelling seal suctioning itself into place sunk into my head as the apartment was shut off from anything else. I hastily looked over the kitchen once more.

Flour? Check. Sugar? Check. Baking soda? Check. Milk? Check.

And check, check, check, so it went... Until I began going through the apartment itself.

Furniture lined up correctly? Check. Coasters in the right hand corner of the end table? Check. Floor spotless of anything; shoes, coats, notebooks, what-have-you? Check, check, check.

I had never felt this nervous in all of my life. But it was a weirdly amazing type of anxiety. My belly flipped over and a small shiver went through me as I imagined each of Edward's emotions. His winking smile. His smug smirk. His panged eyes. His serious eyebrows. His fiery stare...

Yeah, I needed to stop those thoughts unless I wanted to change my underwear again.

Just as I was thinking about how Alice had insisted I put on the scary, lacy piece of string she called her "scoring panties", and how I'd opted instead to go down a more comfortable, Jasper-free, cotton route, he was at the door.

"Hey," I said breathlessly, pulling the door open and wanting to pinch myself to make sure that Edward had actually returned to my apartment.

Seconds later, I realized that the bathroom door was ajar and I tried to push it closed hurriedly with my other hand that wasn't holding open the front door. I realized the bathroom door was ajar, after Alice's discussion about Edward's need for order it troubled me. Being neither totally open nor shut it was like a grey area hanging out in space when his need would dictate all or nothing, black or white. I tried to push it closed hurriedly with my other hand.

"Hi," he said back, running his hand through his hair and, with a deep breath, crossing the threshold.

"So," I said, almost too brightly, "I've laid out everything that we'll need. I just thought maybe we'd make chocolate chip cookies or something. Nothing that I can burn too easily. It's all right here; I have the measuring cups out as well, and the bowl, and mixer, and-"

I was cut off by a light chuckle coming from behind me. I turned around from the counter in order to see what Edward was laughing at.

"What?" I said, nonplussed as he continued to laugh.

"Nothing, Bella, it's just, well," he ruffled his hair once more, this time in a more playful manner, "you're really cute when you're nervous."

"Oh," I said, my mutinous blush creeping into my face as I realized how jittery I'd been acting.

Damn you, skin, you suck at keeping things on the down low.

"Now, about these cookies," Edward said, still smiling bigger than I had ever seen. He reached around me to get to the recipe I'd laid out on the counter. The fabric of his shirt brushed against my face, and I was no longer pissed at myself for being flustered.

Shit, anyone would be a little heated, what with him in that close a proximity.

"We need two cups of flour to start, and then we add in the sugar and salt accordingly."

His eyelashes fluttered as his eyes zoomed across the printed out page of directions. His voice, playful before, was so serious, so businesslike, that I couldn't resist commenting.

"Oh, yes Dr. Cullen. Ten CCs of flour coming right up."

His eyes snapped to mine as I felt my face draw into a smirk.

"Very funny. I happen to take chocolate chip cookies very seriously, Miss Swan, and I don't have time for any of your lip," he stated back, picking up the chocolate chip bag and shaking it at me.

For a brief moment, I wondered if he was serious, considering his condition. He must have seen the look of concern on my face however, because he winked at me shortly after, placing the bag back on the counter after a few minutes of adjusting it.

"Erm," I said, grabbing onto the neck of the bottle of merlot that Alice had helped me pick up at the store earlier, "I didn't really want to attempt trying to make a martini for you, so I got this, if you'd like a glass."

He smiled at the redness that had now settled permanently on my cheeks.

"Are you trying to get me drunk?" he asked, lifting his expressive brows until they disappeared under his mess of hair.

"No!" I almost screamed, looking at him, appalled if that was what he truly thought of me.

"Bella, just relax," he said, chuckling once more, "I think you need the wine more than I do.

With a small smile, I took out the cork screw and began an attempt to spear the top of the cork with the pointed edge. Being the clumsy, slightly un-suave person that I am, the cork began to splinter under my inexperienced hands.

"Here, let me," Edward said, wrenching the bottle and screw out of my hands sharply and taking the task on himself.

"Sorry," I said, as he finished twirling the bottle around with finesse, setting the cork back on the countertop and pouring glasses for the both of us.

"I've said it before, and I'll say it again, you don't have anything to apologize for."

His eyes bore into mine as he handed the glass to me. The rim of his touched mine with a soft clink as he said,

"To you. Woefully tactless in all the right ways. You're perfect."

I snorted on the wine that I had begun to drink. My mouth grew numb and my throat closed on me. My heart beat treacherously in my chest as I looked up at him, and all that was perfect about him.

"You are."

It's all I could say. The air between us was electrified, and I could feel his lips come closer into mine. With a sigh, he set his glass down, reaching back behind me and picking up the directions for the cookies.

And so the baking went. We added the dry ingredients together with the liquid, quipping back and forth between measuring and folding. The nerves that had filled me up had been replaced completely by a comfortable closeness that I began to feel with Edward.

We talked about everything. Favorite childhood memories, what we were interested in at the time... We even went the high school route and asked each other what our favorite color was.

"Green," I said, without wavering.

Dark green, like his eyes, like olives, like hundred dollar bills. Everything that reminded me of him.

Everything was going amazingly, and half of the bottle of wine had been emptied. That was when I did it. I made the fatal mistake.

I broke the egg.

He had broken the first two, and I blame Sir Merlot for making me get all comfortable and frisky, because for some reason I had the notion that I should pluck the last one out of his hand and break it into the bowl myself.

However, as I went to crack the shell on the side of the bowl, my feet caught each other, and my hand flew, egg and all, into the middle of the dough. Yellowed, broken yolk spread over my fingers, as I felt the palm of my hand being cut by the sharp egg shell that now littered the mix.

"Oh fuck."

It was all I could say. I stared from my hand, to Edward, back to my hand, and then back at Edward. He wore a blank expression, although I thought I could see his forehead tense up.

"Fuck," he said back.

An eternity felt like it slipped by with neither of us making a move. With all of the courage that I could muster up, I cautiously lifted my hand up out of the sticky mixture. Bright yellow ooze, sharp creamy jags, and droplets of red made up the middle of the bowl.

A complete disaster.

"Edward, I'm so, so sorry," I said to his face, wiping my hand off on the hand-towel nearby and making sure that my palm had stopped bleeding. I was furiously trying to blink back the tears that I knew were about to come. This night had been too good to be true.

"Like I said," he whispered, audibly gulping, as he seemed to reach for me, "You never need to apologize."

A wild expression took over his eyes, and with as much concentration as it had taken him to pop the olive off of the stick, he reached, not for me, but for the bag of flour still left out on the counter.

I watched, bewildered, as he opened up the crisp paper bag, stuck his hand inside, and came out with a fistful of flour.

"Are you ever going to be able to just be around me without worrying about upsetting me?"

"I don't know," I squeaked out.

With a smirk, he seemed to weigh the flour still trapped in his fist.

"Wrong answer."

And with that, I was enveloped in a cloud of powdery white.

Adrenaline was pumping through my veins, and my stomach had begin to unknot. If Edward was able to let loose, it should be ten times easier for me to do the same. I grabbed for the bag and pulled out my own handful.

Edward looked like a marble statue, each of his features masked in a dull white. Everything except for his eyes.

He grabbed onto my waist, pushing me up onto the counter, and threw another fistful up into the air, blanketing us both in soft, cool powder. It felt as if we were together in a meadow of snow.

Just as I was about to retaliate, he threw another handful up above us. As the flecks hit my hair and my nose and my knees, he kissed me in a way he never had before. Furiously hot and sweet and tasting of merlot and chocolate chips. Savory sweet.

We were a windstorm against each other, the white flying everywhere, and clothes following closely behind. I sat, half naked on the countertop, trying to feel every part of a shirtless Edward that I could get my hands on.

The flour made everything slip coolly against our bodies.

His hands slid up, over, and under my breasts, and I had never felt this way before in my entire life. He was touching me in all the ways I had fantasized about, and I didn't ever want it to end.

I begrudgingly took my hands from his biceps, sliding them down to the button in the front of my jeans.

Our lips remained connected. We had not been parted since they first touched.

I had gotten the button to unclasp, and was trying to unzip myself as fast as I could out of my stupid jeans... they were in the way of what I wanted... when I felt his hands grasp my wrists.

Gasping out, he said, "Bella, I have to go."

"Now?" I gasped back. I wasn't really sure of what he meant. I guessed if he was as riled up as I had been by the whole night, he wouldn't have been able to hold it all that much longer. If by some miracle, he'd be able to get off on the awkward, plain person that was me, I sure wouldn't be complaining.

"Yes," he said, breaking away from me and throwing his shirt up over his head.

Oh. He had to go. _As in leave._

"Oh," I said, stating my inner revelation.

"I'm sorry I couldn't stay to help you finish the batch. I'll call you. I just have to... I have to go."

He gave me a somewhat brotherly peck on the forehead and flew out of the door.

So there I stood, half naked in a floury mess of a kitchen with a half-drunk bottle of wine and bloody, eggshell tainted chocolate chip cookie dough... all alone and completely confused.

The bottle was empty by the next morning, as was the bowl of dough.


	14. Break My Rules EPOV

**~*~ Author's Note ~*~**

Hey everyone, I want to give a great big thanks for your continued support and reviews. It means a hell of a lot, and to say thanks, this chapter's a long one... Like, ridiculously longer than my other chapters.

A big thanks to my wonderful beta.

Ahhh... Second helping of chocolate and OCDward.

**~*~I Have Decided to Break My Rules ~*~**

**EPOV:**

"So, a little bird told me you have a cooking date with that cute waitress tonight," Emmett said, smiling his goofy grin and giving a deliberate wink in my direction.

I spooned the mashed potatoes onto his plate, to the left of his medium rare steak, pressing the back of the spoon in the middle of the pile, just enough to leave an indenture for the gravy.

Sitting the bowl down and picking up the gravy boat, I ladled the brown beef stock into the hole I had made.

"And who might this little bird be?" I asked tiredly, as Rosalie snagged the bowl out of my outstretched hand, causing a hot drop to slop over the side and into my palm. I counted down in my head, trying to bite my tongue so as to not get into another argument with her.

As much as Emmett had insisted, and as much as I had glared, she still would not let me lay out her food as I liked, even though_ I_ was the one who had made the whole damn meal. Apparently she considered it degrading.

I considered it degrading to my food when she spilled all of the brown gravy over the entirety of her plate.

Ugh.

"Don't look at _me_," she shot, laying the bowl back down and tapping her fingers on the edge of the table.

"Rose," Emmett said softly.

Rosalie merely rolled her eyes and smashed her corn into her potatoes, then her cut steak into the mixture, and tucked it all into one steaming pile of ruined perfection.

Calm, calm breaths.

If I was going to spend an evening with Bella, the least I could do was test myself with the smaller things first. I could handle Rosalie's mess of a dinner, and I could handle myself.

Well, at least that was what I was trying to tell myself.

"Yes, Emmett, I'm meeting her at her place in around an hour."

"About time," he said shortly, cutting into his steak, spearing one of the pieces and taking a long, pensive bite.

I waited for him to continue his point as he chewed and then finally swallowed.

"It's just, you know, man, you've been alone for a while now."

I gestured to him and to Rosalie. "I'm not alone."

I wasn't. Really. I was just fine. Perfectly social and happy.

"Okay, man," he said in a somewhat patronizing way, at least as patronizing as Emmett could be. He winked at Rosalie and then went back to his meal.

Fuck. Now was not the time for him to go all Dr. Phil on my ass.

We spent the rest of the dinner in mere silence, Emmett ever-so-often glancing to Rosalie and giving her the same look I had envied for the past few months, while she just kept mutilating the plate in front of her. I, meanwhile, had decided to pout and glower into my perfectly pieced plate.

Stupid plate.

Stupid steak.

Stupid potatoes.

Stupid damn _me_. How on earth was tonight even going to work if I couldn't get through dinner without an anxiety attack?

I thought back to the conversation I'd had with Alice on campus earlier that day.

I had insisted on meeting her in the library, sick to my stomach with worry about every single little thing I could do to mess up the night, to mess up Bella. If there was anyone that I had found I could talk to, it had been her. Surprisingly, instead of wishing she and all of her knowledge of my problems would go away, I had started to cling to her advice.

She was, after all, the only one who had been with me through it all and could truly understand the inner fuck-uped-ness that was me.

"Look, she knows about everything now, Edward, so she'll work with you. I know she wants to understand. But she also wants you to trust her, to let her in. If you can do that, you'll be fine."

I breathed deeply into the palms of my hands as the panic began to subside slowly.

"And," she said, a mischievous smile crossing her face, "she's really excited about tonight. I've made sure the apartment's in order to make it easier for both of you—"

I cut her off at that.

"Alice, I really don't want any extra attention or anything. You didn't have to—"

"Hey... Hey, I said it would make it easier for the _both _of you, not you alone. This is about her as much as it is you. The more comfortable you feel, the better the night will go and the more relaxed she'll be. Bella didn't mind at all. In fact, she seemed to like the thought of making it right."

I felt conflicted. It made me considerably calmer to think that I wouldn't be walking into an apartment of chaos, but I still wasn't sure how I felt about Bella changing anything about her lifestyle in order to accommodate my own eccentricities. It would only be a short amount of time before I messed something up.

"But, Alice, what if I fuck it all up?" I asked, sounding younger than I had in my whole life. I felt like we were back in grade school, asking her if the younger kids thought I was as weird as the ones in my class did.

She thought pensively for a second, and then a small smile crept across her face.

"If anyone fucks anything up, it won't be you."

Huh?

********************************************************************

My feet pounded out a resilient beat on the hard concrete below me.

Three more flights.

Oh god, I can't believe I'm actually going through with this.

Two more flights.

I hope I'll be able to control myself, for her sake.

One more flight.

I can't wait to see her, to see her expressions, her hair, her face, her smell, her adorable clumsy self.

Then one deep breath and three knocks on the door.

"Hey," she said, and the voice that surrounded my ears was fucking spectacular. The agitation I had felt before was worth it.

Now suck it up, Cullen, and push yourself through that door.

She seemed to be struggling with something inside, and I ran my hand through my hair, trying to dispel the last of my anxiety with the sweeping motion as I replied with a "hi."

With that word, and with all of the strength I had, I placed my right foot through the threshold and was standing in the middle of Bella's apartment. She was babbling on about ingredients and steps to making cookies and god knows what all else. I was just breathless at the immaculate, well, _right-ness_, of the place.

My stomach unknotted itself, and I chuckled lightly from pure happiness at the entirety of the situation.

"What?" she said back to me, a slightly contemptuous look on her face.

I tried to stifle my laughter, knowing I wouldn't be able to rightly explain the level of relief I was feeling at the moment, and opted to explain with,

"Nothing, Bella, it's just, well, you're really cute when you're nervous."

And God, I hoped that was the reason for the rampage of words coming from her mouth. I was brought back to the last time on the doorstep, and her talking and explaining and apologizing, and the way our lips met as I buried them into her...

Wow, really need to stop thinking those thoughts or else it'll start to become physically apparent what I'm thinking about.

If my crazy-ass eccentric self hadn't scared her off yet, I'm pretty sure little Eddie standing at full attention might.

"Oh," she breathed, so close to me. Her cheeks blushed, and it took all of my strength to keep control of myself.

For once I was fighting for the normal, ever-present control any guy my age would need in a situation like this. I liked fighting _this_ type of problem for a change.

"Now, about these cookies," I said as I cleared my throat, because for God's sake, I really did need to get my mind out of the fucking gutter. I reached for the recipe, her nose becoming momentarily buried in the fabric against my chest.

Ugh. Cookies, must think about cookies.

I rattled off the ingredients, happy that she was letting me take charge of the whole cooking business. Not only did it get my mind off of the obvious, but it also helped me to remain comfortable and in control.

"Oh, yes, Dr. Cullen," she interrupted my voice with a snarky undertone, "ten CCs of flour coming right up."

My eyes snapped to hers as she cocked her head and grinned mischievously at me.

"Very funny. I happen to take chocolate chip cookies very seriously, Miss Swan, and I don't have time for any of your lip," I quipped back. For good measure, I grabbed hold of the chocolate chip cookie bag behind her and began to shake it at her.

Shake it at her? Seriously, I think I'd downgraded my game to first grade.

And obviously I had. The look she gave me was confusing and... concerned? Probably concerned for my sanity. I tried to recover, making myself wink at her as I placed the bag back onto the counter.

Next to the other cold goods, to the left of the eggs, at a parallel edge... Of course.

"Erm," she said, as I finished replacing the bag, "I didn't really want to attempt trying to make a martini for you, so I got this, if you'd like a glass."

I smiled at her, looking at the label of one of my favorite merlots and trying to hide the sadness that had welled up in me. Damn, I was grateful that she'd supplied something alcoholic. I was pretty sure we both needed something to take the edge off, but I wondered just how scared of me she was if she didn't think I'd gladly drink any martini she gave me.

And I would, the right amount of olives and incessant sloshing be damned.

"Are you trying to get me drunk?" I asked, attempting once more to diffuse the awkward situation.

"No!" she nearly shouted in my face, and I broke out into laughter again.

The sheer sincerity of her words, of her actions, was enough of a drink for me.

"Bella, just relax. I think you need the wine more than I do."

She took the bottle by its neck, and attempted to spear the end with the corkscrew. I say attempted because she was splintering the crap out of it. If she kept at it this way, there was no way in hell that bottle would be opened correctly, and the merlot would be filled with a flotsam and jetsam of ruined cork bits.

I tried to wait. I tried to say it didn't matter. I tried to think only of her little hand around the bottle's edge.

I tried, and succeeded, in wrestling the bottle out of her hand.

"Here, let me," I said. My breathing subsided as I replaced the screw in the correct place, feeling it hit the very middle of the cork and curling inward at the perfect one hundred and eighty degree angle.

"Sorry," she muttered, and all concentration with the wine had gone out the window at her word. Guilt poured through me just as I poured wine into the glasses. I looked disgustedly at the wine in my hand, then swallowed my self-contempt down, and met her eyes.

"I've said it before and I'll say it again. You don't have anything to apologize for."

I clinked glasses with her, praying for better control than this.

"To you," I said with a pause, "woefully tactless in all the right ways. You're perfect."

"You are," she said in a serious voice back at me, and I felt my Adam's apple bob as I moved closer to her.

Cookies, Cullen, cookies.

And so I reached for the directions, not giving two shits about the baking project in front of us.

After a short amount of time I could feel Bella begin to relax, becoming more comfortable with me. I hoped it was me, but maybe it was the wine. We touched base on everything. Ex-boyfriends... She had had one, the small number surprising the hell out of me, and by what little she'd said about him, things hadn't ended too well. That _really_ surprised the hell out of me.

If I could have her, I'd hold on and never let go.

I only slightly mentioned Tanya, and left out all of the other small, feebly stupid attempts that I had made relationship-wise. We talked about her family, about her mother splitting from her father. We talked about mine, my dad's expectations of me and my mom's unwavering approval, no matter what I got myself into.

And colors. We talked about colors.

"Red," I said, after she had said her favorite.

Bright red, like her cheeks, the way they got when she was embarrassed or excited or swept by the wind, and like the insides of olives. Blanketed by green. A burst of flavor hidden by a mellow exterior... The way Bella was; an unassuming package with an interior that was simply electrifying.

I poured each of us another glass, and noticed that the bottle was emptying rather fast. I was pondering this, wondering whether we should stop, when I felt the weight from the egg cradled in my other hand disappear.

I looked over to the bowl as I heard an ominous crack.

As Bella's hand raised from the middle of the bowl, I saw a mixture of bright red blood amidst a sea of sticky yellow yolk and shredded pieces of shell.

The first instinct of mine was to panic, to leave the situation right then and there. One of my feet had actually stepped up and was trying to make its way toward the front door.

But the look on her face was so... So goddamn _torturous_... And the tears swimming in her eyes were tears of fear, of disappointment. Her long eyelashes fluttered furiously, trying to keep the liquid from spilling. This reaction, because she'd broken an egg.

I wasn't even thinking of the batter. All I wanted to do was make everything better, make her tears go away. Make her smile.

"Like I said, you never need to apologize."

Every bit of me wanted to reach for her, to hold her. But that wouldn't make my point. She needed to stop being scared of me, stop being scared of her own actions around me. With a small smile I reached for the bag of flour.

"Are you ever going to be able to just be around me without worrying about upsetting me?"

I didn't know what the answer would be, but I was pretty sure it wouldn't be yes.

"I don't know."

"Wrong answer," I said with a smirk, and as I let my fist unclench around us, releasing a plume of flour, we were surrounded in a sea of white.

To my surprise, she blinked once, grabbed for the bag herself, and powdered me in the cool flour.

With that action, with her hair swimming with white and her breathing ragged, I grabbed onto her small waist and pushed her up onto the counter. I threw more powder. We needed to be concealed. We needed to break all of my rules. We needed this.

God, and I kissed her, and she was sticky sweet with the taste of wine and chocolate, and I felt as if my lips were burning from her hot mouth.

My fingers, on their own accord for the first time in my life, and not by any preconceived plan, went for the buttons on her shirt. I popped them off without thought of rhyme or scheme or symmetry and heard them clink lightly on the floor.

Her bra was gone in seconds, tiny flecks of flour peppering the light pink color of her breasts. And holy God, her breasts. I couldn't help but reach out to touch them, to make sure all of this was real and I wasn't in a fantastic dream.

Those were definitely not a figment of my imagination. I don't think I could've ever dreamed up something so delicate, so right.

Her small hands whipped around to the back of me and struggled to get my sweatshirt off and over my head.

And the way she felt against my chest, the way the flour slipped between us, causing an unbearably cool friction, was the most chaotically perfect thing I had ever felt in my life.

She was unbuttoning my pants, panting and smiling and unwilling to let go of my lips, and then she was tugging at her own.

That was when I realized I was just standing there.

How long had I been paralyzed? How long had I been unmoving against her lips, her hips, her body?

What with the wine, and the whole damn situation, and her being _scared _of my reactions, and me needing to prove by way of a food fight that she could trust me... It just wasn't right.

I couldn't do this. Not yet. I grabbed her wrists and felt the tears start bubbling up from the back of my eyes.

"Bella, I have to go."

"Now?" she gasped. Her expression was only that of mild disappointment. Maybe it hadn't mattered to her either way... And that stung more than the tears wanting to burst out of me.

"Yes," I said, trying not to look at her as I threw the shirt back over my head. I didn't think I could handle looking her in the eyes without bawling like an idiotic child.

I gave some sort of explanation, gave her a peck on the forehead, and was out the door. The cold wind hit my face as I ran down the steps, panting furiously. I slunk down to the bottom of the floor when I had finally left the staircase. I brushed my hands furiously through my hair, smattering my shirt with the remnants of flour left in it.

And I cried. I fucking cried everything out. I hadn't cried since, well, I don't even fucking know when. I was tear-stained and white with powder and looking like I should be committed.

I don't know how long I stayed out there, and I was only alerted of the fact that I was outside, curled up in a ball in the damn Chicago cold when my phone lit up.

Alice.

"Edward? Edward, are you okay?" her voice crackled, worried and high on the other end.

"I don't know," I said, my own voice giving me away. It was dry and hoarse from crying.

"Hey there, hey. Where are you at, honey?"

"Bottom stairs."

"Huh?"

"At the," I breathed, trying to control myself, "at the bottom of your staircase."

"How the hell did I miss you? Hey come back up, I'm home, and Bella's in bed."

"I dunno."

Part of me wanted to be back up there in the apartment, to see Bella, to tell her that everything would be okay. That I didn't mean to walk out on her. The other part of me just wanted to crawl back into my hole of academia and music where I didn't have to talk to anyone, didn't have to deal with this shit, with life.

"Edward Anthony Cullen, come upstairs. I'll see you in a few."

With the small click of the other line going dead, I dragged myself back up to the apartment, and pushed on the door without even worrying about what the wreckage in the kitchen would do to aggravate my OCD.

Luckily, it had been wiped completely clean without a trace of the disaster I had caused.

"Oh, Edward," Alice said, hugging me and holding out a warm, wet towel. She dabbed at my face as she ushered me to the couch. With whiskey in hand, she poured me a generous amount; then poured herself the same.

"Bella asked me to come back to the apartment, and I figured something had gone wrong."

I downed the liquid like it was my last drink. The warmth of it heated my stomach and made everything slow down. My mind quieted, and I was able to look in the face of the sister I had abandoned all those years ago.

All I could do was shake my head and look down into my hands, twiddling my fingers.

Pointer. Ring. Middle. Pinky.

"So, Bella was a little bit smashed when I got back home... Okay, a little bit would be an understatement. She was wasted. And trying to eat the contents of what looked like red-dyed cookie dough with egg shells all over it. I confiscated the bowl, and the last bit of wine, cleaned her up, and sent her to bed."

"Can I just... Can I just look at her for a second? Just see that she's okay?"

My voice cracked yet again, and I was surprised by the desperation of my tone.

"That's a bit creepy, brother," Alice quipped, smiling at me.

"Really?" I asked. All I needed was to see her, to make sure she still even existed—that she wasn't lost to me forever.

"Oh... Not really," she said, shrugging and tousling her hair. "Go, go. But let yourself out, I'm dead tired from all of this drama."

"Night, Alice," I said, making my way to Bella's door.

"Night, Edward. I love you."

"I love you, too," It had been years since I'd said it to her, and her face broke into a grin as I opened the door to Bella's room.

I closed it tenderly after me and reached out to touch her face, but thought better of it, remembering Alice's "creepy" comment. Instead I curled up on the edge at the bottom of her bed.

Her hair was freshly washed, strewn all around her pillow, and smelled as it always did; light and airy and scented with strawberries. Her eyes were a bit puffy. I'm sure that had something to do with me. And her lips were tainted slightly purple from all of the wine.

Her arms were grasped tightly around one of the pillows from her bed. She seemed to have it in a strangling embrace, laying on her side and hugging it as if it was a tree she was climbing.

She was gorgeously, ridiculously _Bella_.

That was when I heard it, a small and almost indistinguishable noise, but it was music to my ears. As I craned my ear closer to the front of the bed, I heard it again.

"Edward."

Bella was saying _my_ name. And as shitty as the night had gone, and as much pain as I had caused her, I downed the last of my whiskey and thought to myself,

"This is the only place I ever want to be. Cullen, it's time to start making up for some serious fuck-ups."


	15. Fluffy Omelets BPOV

-1**~*~ Author's Note ~*~**

Hello, everyone. Well, I am all rainbows and sunshine after the wonderful reviews I've been receiving. Can't tell you how psyched I was when I broke 300. It really means alot to get your feedback, so I do appreciate you taking the time out to give me your two cents.

Thanks as ever to my wonderful beta!

**~*~ Fluffy Omelets ~*~**

**BPOV:**

My fists rubbed deep into my eyes, trying to wipe away the crusty residue of tears mixed with old makeup as I made what I hoped was an "I am pissed off, I absolutely hate you" face to the sunlight creeping in through the shades. My stomach warbled sickly, and I turned my face from the window downward to it.

"You can fuck off, too, stomach," I huffed heatedly, patting it nonetheless.

Needless to say, I wasn't in the best of moods. I felt my throat tighten as I coughed slightly. The multiple glasses of wine coupled with the shards of eggshell and gloppy cookie dough I was pretty sure I had gorged out on last night had made my esophagus tighten and burn.

I grew a little nauseous at the thought as I swallowed furiously in order to keep my stomach under control.

Perfect.

I stretched my toes as I slowly lifted myself into a sitting position, cracking my back and looking forward into the mirror attached to my closet.

"Agh!" I screamed, slightly under my breath. Holy God, I looked like a complete tranny mess.

I vaguely recalled Alice helping me into the bathtub last night, and the way I had slept on my wet hair made it stick up in all directions. My eyes were puffy and red from crying, and my lips were a violently sick purplish-brown color from all of the wine.

I smiled, and I felt nauseated. My teeth were an odd grey color, which was even more pronounced by a few small pieces of shell still stuck between them.

I felt dizzy and sick, but I had a feeling it had less to do with the wine and extra-crunchy cookie dough as opposed to Edward's rejection. As shocked as I was by my appearance, my first thought wasn't getting cleaned up. All I wanted to do was continue the comfort food binge with my old friends, Mr. Ben and Mr. Jerry, even with the weight of the cookie dough still rolling around in my very unhappy belly.

I tried to tiptoe out of my room, knowing full well that Alice would still be asleep. She liked to indulge in "beauty rest", as she put it; her dedication to sleep was such that she even made sure her classes were all scheduled to begin after eleven o'clock. My door creaked slightly as I made my way, barefoot, into the kitchen.

"Ah, sanctuary," I sighed, reaching for the handle of the freezer door. As I reached for the tub of ice cream, I saw _it_ in its usual place. Its red eye glared up at me, as if challenging me to remove it. Stifling a sob, I touched the cold plastic Ziplock with my trembling fingers, and laid it out on the table in front of me.

Taking a seat at the table, I grabbed a big stirring spoon and dug into the ice cream, looking Edward's olive dead in the eye the whole time. I wanted to throw it away, I wanted to destroy it... I knew I wouldn't be able to. My fingertip reached out for it, and I began to feel its frozen exterior when—

"Bella?"

"AGH!"

I screamed for real this time; out loud and worse than anyone getting hacked up in some sort of torture porn movie. The ice cream was on the floor, my ass was out of the kitchen table chair, and I was blinking furiously in order to make out the man in my house.

Oh. Dear. God.

"Edward?"

"Sorry to scare you, Bella. I just... I needed to explain about last—"

I went running... on second thought, freaking sprinting... for dear life back into my bedroom. I'd seen the travesty I was this morning, and there was no way in hell Edward was seeing any of that.

Huffing and puffing, I rested my back against my bedroom door as I tried to remember where I had placed my hairbrush.

"Bella," the voice said at the crack of the door, sounding convincingly desperate. "Bella, please, just talk to me."

"Edward," I said shakily back to him, "give me, like, fifteen minutes, okay? There's stuff in the fridge if you're hungry and want to eat breakfast or whatever."

"Okay?" he said back, more of a question than an answer.

Rushing into my adjoining bathroom, I flopped around like a fish out of water trying to get everything together. I brushed my teeth vigorously, flossing in order to get all of the egg shell out. I was pretty sure I no longer had enamel after the ass-whipping my wine-stained teeth got.

I then started on my lips, trying desperately to use some sort of dead skin removal cream crap Alice had stocked my bathroom with. My eyes smarted as the tingling of the lip mask and "gentle" exfoliating beads did their worst on my lips. I looked into the mirror, my lips were no longer a weird, funky color, but now they felt like they were on fire. I guessed a girl in my situation couldn't be too picky.

My hairbrush had been hiding under my robe, and I tried furiously to detangle the near-dreadlocks on top of my head. Giving up, I threw it into a messy ponytail. And I didn't mean it was messy in a cute, "I don't care but I spent ten hours making it _look_ like I don't care way". Nope, the look I was sporting was more of a "God, you have some crinkly crap glued into some strands of your hair. What did you eat?" way.

I scrunched up my nose at my reflection. It wasn't great, but it'd have to do. I was relieved and scared that Edward felt the need to talk to me. I had to admit, my ego-meter had gone down about a million and one points since he left me in the kitchen.

With an intake of breath, I opened the door only to have an extremely pleasant smell hit my nose. I saw Edward's back to me, leaning his weight on one of his feet and flipping what looked like an omelet into the air. After placing it on a plate, he turned to me.

"Omelet?"

"Sure?" I asked back. After the whole flour fiasco last night my head had been filled with nothing but thoughts of what would happen the next time I saw Edward, not one of them included waking up to him flipping omelets in my kitchen.)

"Good," he said with a small smile, beckoning to me and putting the plate in my hand. His long fingers twiddled the oven off before he picked up his own plate and gestured towards the table.

"Although I'm sure it can't beat cherry chocolate ice cream," he said, smiling slightly again.

I looked down at the plate and fiddled with the fork that had been placed on it. Not knowing what to say to the whole situation, I cut into the omelet and took a bite.

Good holy lord, it was fluffy, salty, spicy heaven. Gah. I think my eyes rolled into the back of my head with the sheer taste of it.

"Guess it's an upgrade from uncooked eggs at least," he said, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.

So he knew about last night? When the hell had he come back? It couldn't have been shortly after he went bolting out, because I definitely had enough time to finish off all the wine and have Alice clean me up.

I kept shoveling eggs down my throat so I wouldn't have to talk. I honestly didn't know what to say. After eating all of the breakfast in less than a minute, it dawned on me that _I_ had nothing to say. Edward had come to talk, and I would listen.

I was bracing myself for the worst. For the whole "it's not you, it's me" speech. I cringed slightly at the thought of having to hear those words out of his mouth.

"So, you came here to say something to me?" I said. It wasn't accusatory, more wary. I had no idea how this was going to go.

He sat there; chewing his breakfast and looking down at his plate and fork for what seemed like an eternity. Then he looked back up at me with those piercing green eyes. They were focused on mine and seemed to be boring into me relentlessly.

"I love you, Bella Swan."

Huh?

"Garmphundt?" was what I think I said in return. I can't be sure as my tongue had gone completely limp.

He... Loves... Me?

"I do. I love you, and it wasn't fair of me to just run out on you like that without explaining why. If you're still interested in being with me, I promise you I'll try to tell you what's aggravating me. When I saw you last night the way you were, and that I had caused it—"

"Wait," I said, gulping as my head spun in every direction. "When you saw me last night?"

"I, erm, I didn't exactly leave the apartment complex last night. I hung around outside until Alice called and said you were in bed. I just had to see you, to make sure you were okay, and you looked so sadly beautiful, and I just... Well, fuck," he said, scrunching up the bridge of his nose and pulling his fingers through his hair.

"Yeah... Fuck," was all I could get out of my mouth.

And then we started to laugh. I wasn't sure who started, but before long my ribcage hurt from the pressure of my diaphragm. His laughs were booming and delicious to my ears. As a few tears trickled out of my eyes, he made his way out of his chair and came to me.

Kneeling in front of me, he took my smiling face into the palms of his hands and he kissed me. At first our lips were barely touching, due to the identical grins on our faces, but before long his hands moved upward and became tangled in my mess of a ponytail, his thumbs feeling the contours of my cheeks.

I could feel my heart thudding in my eardrums, my face and chest growing warm from his touch. I grabbed the nape of his neck hard, never wanting him to leave again. His hands released my head and began to wander down, resting on my hips.

No. I would have to be the strong one. If I didn't want a repeat of last night, I would have to force him to stop avoiding cluing me in.

All I wanted was to let go and enjoy his hands, his lips, this moment. But, no, I would have to be the strong one. If I didn't want a repeat of last night I would have to force him to stop distracting me with physical affection to avoid cluing me in.

Ugh. It sucked pulling his lengthy biceps away from me, pushing myself out of his grasp. But I did it.

"Talk," I gasped, trying to steady my heartbeat with a few breaths. My forehead rested on his, our noses touching lightly.

I heard him give a deep sigh.

"Thank you, Bella," he said shakily, taking my hands into his and pulling me out of the chair and onto the floor with him.

He told me everything; all about his childhood and his struggles through high school. He talked about how he had sought professional help, and how his medication had made him feel too numb. He talked about abandoning Alice, and how he had immersed himself in his schoolwork and his music, immersed himself in a set schedule in order to fight his disorder on his own.

He told me just how hard it was for him to leave the olive for me, how hard it was for him to take me to the pizza place, how hard it was for him to step into my apartment.

But the most surprising part was what he had admitted at the end.

"For the first time in my life, being with you, touching you like that... I wasn't thinking about placement or counting or things I had done wrong or all of the million fucked up things going through my head on a daily basis. I was just thinking of you."

My eyes smarted, and my heart picked up its beat again.

"Then why did you run away?"

It was the question that needed to be answered. I wanted to know, needed to know how he could just abandon me so damn fast; as if I had the herp and he'd just found out.

"Because it wasn't fair to you and because I was scared. The whole thing started because you couldn't relax around me... and I don't blame you. I haven't let you in enough to trust me."

"I do trust you."

Although my voice was quivering, I knew it to be true.

"And," I added, "I love you."

God, the smile on his gorgeous face was just too much. He took me up in his arms and hugged me, rolling me on top of him as he lay on his back on the hardwood floor.

I drew my face down to his and kissed him once more. My lips felt like they were home, nestled against his. He nipped at my bottom lip lightly. As they were still sensitive from Alice's cream, I squirmed under his pressure, wanting so much more. I felt goosebumps erupt on my body as he slid his hand under my tee shirt. His thumb flicked the bottom of my sports bra, and all I wanted was more.

"Whoa, there, Bella. Let's not take advantage of my older brother here," Alice quipped, stilettos clicking against the flooring. They were the only thing in my line of vision. Black and pointy and annoying as shit.

Damn it, Alice.

That, I fear, I said out loud.

"Hey, I'm all for you two frolicking around and all, but it's almost ten thirty and I know you have class. Just thought I'd remind you."

I struggled to push myself off of Edward, and he rolled over, getting to his knees and back on his feet. As he pulled me up by my hand, I was surprised that even that small of a touch could make me break out into a cold sweat, could make me want him that much more.

"Welp," she said, popping the last letter as she moved to the door and swinging her bag on her back, "I'm out. You can stay or not stay, so long as you don't do anything on the couch."

"Ugh, Alice, you still haven't washed those—"

"Bye!" she cut me off, shutting the door with a loud bang the muffled clacking of her shoes moving down the staircase.

"She does have a point," Edward said, regret dripping off of each syllable.

"I know," I agreed, thinking about the literature exam I had been stubbornly ignoring for the past few days.

I shuffled my feet, wondering where this left us at, what it all meant.

"Let me drive you to campus?"

My face broke out into some scarily ridiculous grin. I had gone from eating raw, bloody cookie dough to feasting on perfected omelets. An interesting metaphor for my relationship with Edward Cullen.

That and the three little words he let slip to me.

Life was pretty damn good... Scratch that, life was just, well, unbelievable.

"Yeah."


	16. Declare my Effing Love EPOV

-1**~*~Author's Note~*~**

Hey all. I tried to reply to each review I got, but if I didn't get to you, I'm so sorry... I did mean to :-) I do read all review that I get, and if you like the story and want to put your input in, please review... and PM me if you have any questions.

Mmmm... my reviews have been so amazing, it's like a tequila soaked, flour powdered OCDward. Yeah, I'm happy. Keep it coming ;)

**~*~I Have Decided to Declare My Fucking Love~*~**

I woke up at 3:24.

I woke up at 4:31.

I woke up at 5:36

I woke up at 6:47, and shut my eyes until my phone alarm buzzed 6:54, a much more ordered and respectable number.

Counting down. 6.5.4. Very appropriate.

Wiggling my toes, which had fallen asleep as they pressed against the arm of the living room couch, I stretched my arms out above my head.

I began to crack my knuckles; right hand: pointer, ring, middle, pinky. Left hand: pointer, ring, middle, pinky. Flexing them out in front of my face, I noticed that my fingernails hadn't lasted through the night.

Grumbling to myself, I stumbled through the darkness into my sister's room. Tiptoeing across her bedroom floor, I made my way to the left of her bed towards the bathroom.

I supressed a smile as I saw her splayed out form, her dark short hair rolling against the pillow. She wasn't used to sleeping without Jasper, and I felt slightly responsible for the separation. I'm pretty damn sure if I'd not have freaked out the night before, she'd still be with him.

And as weird as it was picturing my little sister deficating furniture with her boyfriend, I was grateful.

Finally, I made my way to her bathroom mirror.

"Jesus, you look like shit," I whispered to myself, rubbing the flakes that had accumulated in my eyes and struggling to catch my breath as I realized I had none of my own personal things that I normally used to start the day off.

For the first time that I could remember, I had a reason to be thankful my little sister was shacking up with a guy. My heart rate subsided as I found a few things I could use.

My eyes were red and puffy from crying like a fucking pansy in the cold night air, and I noticed the gap in between my nose and my upper lip mimicked the same hue.

The combination of the emotional night I'd had, the wine, and the whiskey were taking a toll on my temples. My head pounded, and I hurriedly turned on the faucet in order to catch a handful of water that my parched mouth desperately needed.

After drinking from it a few times, I shuddered, pulling myself up and setting my mind to work. My hands were already shaking from the lack of regularity, the lack of routine that I was experiencing. I needed to start doing something to calm myself down.

In a flurry of foam, product, razors, and mouthwash, my hands worked to steady my mind.

A quarter-sized squirt of shaving cream, applied evenly to the face. First the right side, then the left, the razor grazing my cheeks first and foremost, then the right upper lip and right chin, followed after by the left. Splash with water for three counts. One. Two. Three. Wipe right, then left, with a towel.

Hair was a bit trickier today. It would need to be washed, as I had slept restlessly on the hard couch, tossing my head back and forth against the heavy fabric. I turned to my left to the shower against the wall.

I stripped off the sweatshirt and tee shirt I had come dressed in the night before, and folded them meticulously (right arm behind left arm, leaving the front exposed, then tucking the bottom of it behind to fold in half and hit the top of the collar).

Being half-naked flashed me back furiously to the night before, to the way Bella felt against my own bare chest. I flexed half-heartedly into the mirror, imagining her hands trailing up and down my chest and clutching the nape of my neck as her lips met mine.

God, and the way her hard nipples felt against my torso, tight pink tips enveloped in the cool, slick flour...

Ugh, if I kept this up, I would need to be taking a cold shower. Very, very cold.

I shook my head, slapping my own cheek and trying to concentrate on the task at hand. I unbuttoned my pants and slid them down along with my boxers. Fold inwards in half, then the bottom cuff to the waistband, then the knee length back to the waistband again. Perfectly thirded jeans.

Laying them on top of the shirts on the counter, I pushed the shower curtain back and twiddled the water knobs with my fingers. Feeling the water temperature rise, I pressed the lever for the water to be sent up to the showerhead. With one deep breath, my body was plunged into a welcomingly warm oasis of calm.

Being under the pulse of the water was bliss. My mind calmed as my fingers attempted to untangle my mess of hair. However, they seemed to be less concerned with my matted coif, and decided on their own accord to help out with another part of my body that needed due attention.

Yeah, I'll admit it, I'm a completely fucked up person. I jacked off to a girl I left half naked in a kitchen while in my sister's shower.

So shoot me.

Because, come on, anyone else would have done the same. Just thinking about the fact that her long, flowing chestnut hair and irresistibly lush cupid's-bow lip were less than a few steps away was enough to drive me mad.

The water and steam swirled around me as I grasped onto myself, imagining her lean hips against my own, her clumsy nature possibly tumbling the both of us down to the floor, allowing me to plunge into her even more, hard and deep and fucking perfect... Just me and Bella sweating and panting; creating friction between each other and...

So much for washing my hair.

So much for sticking to the routine.

I stepped out of the shower, toweling myself off and wrinkling my nose as I made to put back on my soiled clothes from last night. Completely unacceptable, and completely unavoidable, unless I wanted to walk back into the living room stark naked.

Resigning myself to the nearby armchair across from the couch, I pressed my chin forcefully into the palm of my hand as I tried to grasp what the fuck my goddamn problem had been last night.

Yeah, I knew why I high tailed it out of here, but disorder or not, a young guy walking out on a pair of exquisitely gorgeous breasts (especially when said breasts are attached to an exquisitely amazing person) is face-palm worthy.

"What the fuck, Cullen? What. The. Fuck?" I whispered to myself, raking my fingers up and over my scalp through my hair. One. Two. Three.

I was in the middle of verbally kicking my own ass when I was struck out of my reverie by a sliver of light. Bella's door creaked open, and her small frame shuffled from her room to the refrigerator as I watched in awe.

Okay, it was a little "creepy, in the dark, date from last night that supposedly went home but didn't, definite stalker" sort of way.

Fuck. Should probably say something.

"Bella?"

I guess I phrased it as a question in order to seem more nonchalant, as if I were surprised to see her in her own apartment.

She, in response, screamed bloody murder.

Hmmm, apparently the whole nonchalant thing didn't really work.

"Edward?" she said after a brief moment, scrunching up her nose and blinking her eyes in order to adjust to the darkness.

The words tumbled out of my mouth at her recognition of me.

"Sorry to scare you, Bella. I just... I needed to explain about last-"

She fucking bolted as if I were armed with a chainsaw and a flesh-sewn mask before I could get the whole sentence out. If I hadn't been worried about the fact that she probably considered me a ridiculously scary psychopath by now, I may have laughed at the way her uncoordinated feet scampered haphazardly across the hardwood floors a la Risky Business.

As she threw open and hurriedly closed her bedroom door, part of me wanted to just leave right there. Call it a done deal, a catastrophe of a situation, and leave it at that. I could tuck myself up into my music and get back to studying and applying to grad schools.

But that other part of me... Well, Christ, it just couldn't leave her.

"Bella," I said into the crack of her door, "Bella, please talk to me."

I went there. I was now groveling, and, coupled with the crying fest I'd pulled last night, I'd be surprised if my balls were still on a talking basis with me.

"Edward," her voice, shaky and flustered, hit me and I couldn't help but smile, "give me, like, fifteen minutes, okay? There's stuff in the kitchen if you're hungry and want to eat breakfast or whatever."

"Okay?" I said back, moreso as a question than anything. If she was so terrified of me, why hadn't it taken more persuading for her to agree to talk to me? And why did she need fifteen minutes?

I decided to ignore, rather than ponder, these things, and instead tried to preoccupy myself once more in my routines in order to get a handle on things.

I cracked open their fridge, and immediately frowned.

It was pretty much devoid of anything edible. There were a shit ton of condiments, a few hot dogs that seemed to be growing something, an empty box of wine, and a few takeout boxes.

I hesitantly opened one Styrofoam box, and upon finding horrendous, weeks old, bottom shelf Chinese takeout in one decided not to peek into any of the others.

However, luckily, a few of the eggs remained from last night, and among the condiments I was able to find salsa. There was a package of not-too-sketchy ham in the pull out shelf (the expiration date was a few days away), and some seemingly decent mushrooms in the freezer.

I laid out the ingredients on the counter, planning on piecing together a few omelets. It was when I turned around to the table in order to pick up the salt when I saw it.

My Adam's apple bobbed, and I willed my fingers to touch the object in front of me. There, in an unassuming plastic bag, was one lone olive; one solitary olive, for no reason, laying where Bella had sat moments before.

"Maybe she just wanted an olive, and that was the only one left?" I asked myself feebly, until the toe of one of my feet kicked the container that she had been eating out of.

Ben and Jerry. Not really paired well with olives, I guess.

Had she actually kept..?

I didn't allow myself to get my hopes up or assume that she would still be thinking about me at all in any way. By the feel of the olive and the look of the bag, it had come out of the freezer. Maybe it had merely stuck to the ice cream tub. Picking up both the container and the packaged olive, I placed them back in the freezer and concentrated on the task aat hand.

Omelets. Right.

The recipe originally came from my father. Any time he'd done something to slightly piss off my mom, his omelets would come to the rescue. The trick was in the timing and the heating of the eggs. Mix the salsa in with the eggs first, lightly salting them. Add the ham and the mushroom directly after the egg mixture is whipped together and in the medium-low heated pan.

The whisking of the eggs beforehand was crucial. The bubbles in the mixture hit the skillet, and you have a few brief moments to make sure one side of the circle cooks, before tucking in the rest and flipping, from right to left, into a perfect half-circle. Fluffy and salty and _right_.

I cook because it, in and of itself, is a compulsion. Something that needs to be respected, perfected, and done correctly.

My ears pricked as I heard the door to her bedroom re-open. I smiled to myself, flipping the first omelet onto a plate and turning to her.

"Omelet?"

"Sure?" she said, in the same questioning tone I had used with her earlier.

In order to ease the tension, I interjected, "Although I'm sure it can't beat cherry chocolate ice cream."

She didn't take the bait at all. I tried to beat down the knot that had settled in my throat as she looked down at the plate I'd handed her, probably debating whether I'd doped it up with a rufie by the way her fork hovered above it. She finally took a bite, and I couldn't help but chuckle at the way her lips upturned and her eyes fluttered.

My pants strained somewhat while I took in her appearance, and I was grateful that I'd gotten a little carried away in the shower earlier. Being around her, physically, was torturously painful. I always wanted more, wanted to touch her.

I cleared my throat and tried focus on something other than her.

"Guess it's an upgrade from uncooked eggs at least."

As the words tumbled out of my mouth, I felt instant regret. I thought of the expression on her face when I left, the way her eyes showed signs of crying when I peeked in on her after she had fallen asleep. All of that was because of me, and I felt like an ass.

When she proceeded to eat the rest of her breakfast at an alarming pace without replying, I felt like _super_ ass... if that were a super hero... which it isn't... it's just me being a goddamn idiot.

"So, you came here to say something to me?" she said, clinking her fork down after all of the egg had disappeared off of her plate.

I didn't _come_ here to say something, I'd damn well _stayed_ here to say something. Now that she was asking, I was aware that I wasn't sure what I'd been meaning to say. All explanations sounded shallow in my head, and I didn't know what the hell to do.

I placed a piece of mushroom in my mouth and chewed deliberately.

My mind whirled around a thousand miles a minute, and every sort of conversation went zooming in and out of my mind. The one that stuck while the rest was pirouetting dizzily around me was,

"I love you, Bella Swan."

Yeah... I said that one out loud. She had to think I was insane. But as she sputtered unintelligibly my big mouth had to keep going.

"I do. I love you, and it wasn't fair of me to just run out on you like that without explaining why. If you're still interested in being with me, I promise you I'll try to tell you what's aggravating me. When I saw you last night the way you were, and that I had caused it-"

"Wait," she cut me off, and I was thankful because the knot had grown back again in my throat, "When you saw me last night?"

Fuck.

Thought we might be able to skirt over this little detail.

"I, erm, I didn't exactly leave the apartment complex last night. I hung around outside until Alice called and said you were in bed. I just had to see you, to make sure you were okay, and you looked so sadly beautiful, and I just... Well, Fuck," I spilled out, stopping myself while I was behind.

"Yeah," she said breathily, and I looked up from my entwined fingers and into her eyes, "fuck."

With that word, with the way she said it, as if she were agreeing with me, or attempting to get me, or something like that, my stomach soared. I couldn't help myself from cracking a smile, and I saw her eyes crinkle in happiness as well. Before I knew it, we were both laughing maniacally.

Her bell-like tittering laugh caressed my eardrum, and as we continued I saw a few teardrops slip from her eyes. For some reason, the liquid trickling down her cheeks matched with her signature blush made the joviality turn into pure lust as I hopped out of my chair and kneeled in front of her.

I took my thumbs, right, then left, and wiped away the drops that had rolled down her face. As I laced my fingers across the bottom of the back of her head, I pulled up slightly, trapping her lips in mine.

I groaned into her mouth as our smiles disappeared, and she tugged on the small hairs at the nape of my neck. Flicking my tongue out and lightly sucking on her bottom lip, I had to believe there was no place better than this. This was paradise.

Until she pushed me away.

"Talk," she gasped out, her eyes darting from mine to my lips and back.

I sighed deeply, knowing she was right. This was why I had stayed. This was what we needed... For me to fucking man up and talk to her honestly.

"Thank you, Bella," I said, taking her hands and pulling her out of her chair and onto the floor with me. We lay side by side, me messing with the ends of her hair nervously while telling her all about me. My childhood, my disorder, my family, Alice.

She told me about herself, more about her parents, about some Jacob kid she almost lost it to. The knowledge that she'd never slept with anyone would illicit an excited response out of any other guy, and... Well, shit, if we ever got there I sure as hell would be grateful... But that fact made me pretty damn fucking nervous as well.

There was so much at stake for her, and for her and me together. I'd already seen how much I could hurt her, and I didn't want to do that again with something that I would take and not be able to give back.

I pushed that thought out of my mind.

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Cullen," I told myself mentally.

Instead, taking her chin in mine, I tried to explain how she made me feel, how she'd changed my life so much already.

"For the first time in my life, being with you, touching you like that... I wasn't thinking about placement or counting or things I had done wrong or all of the million fucked up things going through my head on a daily basis. I was just thinking of you."

It came out as a tumbled, mess of an explanation, but my heart picked up at the look on her face.

"Then why did you run away?"

And... Plummeted into the bottom of my foot.

I spurted off what I assumed had happened, what I guess I was feeling at the time. The thing is, when I do something so brash in response to my condition, all I know is I need to get the hell away. It had hardly anything to do with her, and everything to do with me.

As I lost myself in my thoughts of what exactly triggered me to leave, not to take a few deep breaths and try to wait it out, her voice came through to me.

"I do trust you. And, I love you."

My face split into the largest grin I think I've ever had on my face. My cheeks almost hurt from the strain of my upturned mouth.

Bella Swan loved me.

Loved _me._

All I could do was hold her, scoop her up from her side of the floor and roll her on top of me, feel all of her.

Her lips were on me instantaneously, grazing hers with mine lightly. I greedily wanted more, and nipped the bottom of her lip as I was briefly reminded of the fantasy that had played out in my head only a few hours earlier. My hands seemed to remember it rather fervently, and had snaked their way under her loose tee shirt.

I groaned as my fingers found the bottom of her breast, and in response she bucked her hips against mine, causing a friction that was unbearable.

"Whoa, there, Bella. Let's not take advantage of my older brother here."

Holy Eff, Alice. Perfect timing, as always.

"Damn it, Alice," Bella said, sliding her body into a sitting position on me and readjusting herself.

Her brief movements in my lap weren't helping my situation at all.

"Hey, I'm all for you two frolicking around and all, but it's almost ten thirty and I know you both have class. Just though I'd remind you."

Bella rolled her eyes, and her body followed suit as the small weight of her was lifted off of me. I felt empty and cold, and was surprised that I could feel so... Alone... Without her touching me. I brushed myself off and got up to my feet, grabbing her hands in mine and pulling her up with me.

My hand still lingered on hers, my fingers lacing between her own as Alice kept on in her incessant babbling, mentioning class and times and something about the couch.

"Eww, Alice, you still haven't washed those-" Bella began to ask, but was cut off by my dear sister.

"Bye!" she said, banging the door shut and clinking down the staircase.

I wanted to take another shower right now. If I'd inferred right, I had spent the night wallowing in the love juices of my little sister and her hygiene-deprived cowboy.

Ugh.

"She does have a point," I said, turning to Bella and trying to get the mental image of spurs, crops, and chaps out of my mind.

"Let me drive you to campus?"

I was surprised at how well her hand fit in mine, how our bodies fit together, and how she made me feel so... Well... Like I was actually fine being just plain, messed-up, _me_.

"Yeah," she said, in that sexy, breathy voice of hers.

As we made our way outside and into the crisp morning air, and after she got done locking the apartment door, I took her ponytail in my right hand and crushed her lips to mine, parting her mouth with my tongue and massaging the back of her head as she moaned slightly, vibrating into my lips. I broke away before we got too carried away.

"What was that for?" she asked breathlessly, her words coming out with little smoky puffs from the cold.

"For you, just because I can," I said, winking at her as I took her hand, and thinking back to the olive I had placed back in the freezer.

_Mine._


	17. Lasagna and Blood BPOV

**~*~ AN ~*~**

You all have been so amazingly patient with me. I went through a whole freaking month of writer's block and midterms… not a good combination at all. I'm back in the saddle again, though and hope to give you a post at least once a week. Thanks again for sticking with the story. I promise I won't be as awol as I have been lately. :)

Yeah, this chap's a cliffhanger, but I have EPOV pretty much all the way written and am thinking of posting around Wednesday.

As ever, an amazing, super thank you to my beta formerly known as kinolaughs, now kinowashere. You rock.

**~*~ Lasagna with a Side of Blood on the Side ~*~**

**BPOV:**

There he was, standing in the middle of the bar blazing with fury as he pulled back his arm and ricocheted his fist off of his opponent's chiseled, scruffy jaw. As the blood began to dribble, bubbling up and seeping out from James' flared nostrils, I felt the world begin to spin around me.

Violence and bodily fluids had the tendency to do that to me.

Blood is repulsive. Blood makes my stomach flip-flop and my palms grow clammy. Blood smells like rust and dirt and pain... and blood makes me pass out faster than the world's most light weight sorority whore chugging Everclear.

And that's what I did, and I did it damn admirably. Concussion number five. Go me. Ceramic flooring's a bitch.

But I'm getting way ahead of myself.

It had already been two weeks since the night of the flour fight and my meltdown. Since then we'd been taking baby steps, staring with the morning after our debacle when Edward drove me to class, leaving me with a peck on the cheek, and a request.

"So, Miss Swan, any plans for lunch this afternoon?"

"Yes, actually, I was planning on meeting this incredibly sexy guy in the quad later on. He's completely and hopelessly wrong for me, but I can't help myself. I'm a sucker for the perfect ones," I said, hoping to holy Jesus that I came across as debonair rather than socially retarded.

The look he gave me suggested I had mastered the latter.

Great.

"Or not," I said in a small voice after he made no attempt to reply, instead pinching his upper nose uncomfortably as if he were trying to alleviate an annoying ice cream headache.

He just stood there, looking at me with those big, green eyes, seemingly lost in thought. Finally, to my relief, he began to chuckle lightly.

"You had me sweating there for a second. I thought I was going to have to beat up some self-absorbed prick, and pronto."

"Ah, well... no...not at all...erm... alright! I need to go to class now."

My words tumbled out of my mouth, freaking awkward in every way. For some reason I had become completely tongue-tied around him, and I cringed as the word vomit dribbled out.

Yeah, I was pretty sure this whole thing between us wasn't going to last very long. Not long at all, given our misconceptions about each other and the doubts we both had.

"You may need this," he said, reaching behind me and picking up my abandoned backpack.

He lifted my right arm and shrugged the pack onto my back, then did the same with my left. Giving it a slight tap on the top, he turned back to face me and leaned in.

"And you will definitely be needing _this_," he said, in his delicious husky honey voice, his lips fluttering mere inches from mine.

He slid his hands into the back pockets of my jeans, squeezing slightly and pulling me to him. By the time it took me to become breathless and let out a small squeak, his lips were on mine, the palms of his hands gripping my backside tightly as he crushed my body against his.

A bell rang in the background, and I had every intention of ignoring it. However, Edward had decided to be the responsible one. He took a step away from me, taking one hand out of my pocket and cradling my face.

"Class, Swan. If you become a slacking, sexual deviant because of me, I don't think Alice would ever forgive me."

I scoffed at his statement, crinkling my nose.

"You obviously don't know your sister very well."

I thought I caught a glimpse of sadness in his eyes, as if the light in them flickered out briefly. But two seconds later he was swiping his thumb against my lower lip and smiling down at me.

"I'll meet you after class, Bella."

With one last squeeze of his left hand, he gave me a peck on the cheek and walked down the stairs, turning backwards a few times, probably trying to check if I'd made into the classroom on time.

But as long as he would keep looking back, I would stay rooted to the spot.

Surprisingly, two weeks into our fledging relationship, there hadn't been a single hiccup. Well, not a big hiccup. Okay, not a monstrously disastrous hiccup.

Time seemed to zoom on and we became inseparable. I don't think we spent more than a few hours apart a day. This meant that I was introduced to his apartment, his roommate, and his own obsessive-compulsive haven. As patient as I had become taking care of my mom's backwards, hippy-ass antics, it still took a bit of maneuvering to adjust to Edward's routines.

"Bella, can you please just put your shoes together as they would be, left then right, toes facing out, and leave them at the right of the entrance to my room?"

"Swan, hon, please don't leave your notebooks on my floor. Just stack them straight up on my bookshelf, that way we know exactly where they are."

"Bells, would you just scoot over on the bed a bit? I like to be slightly to the right of the middle... but don't worry, it's alright if you're on the left side. The left side's the best."

Each scenario was trivial to me, and after the night of him leaving me half naked and alone we'd talked about how he should be completely open to me and the things that bugged him. Hell, if I could put up with Renee's oddities all of these years, I could shift slightly to the left or right in order to make Edward feel comfortable.

Seriously, putting my shoes a certain way is nothing compared to my mom attempting to bake quiche in a twelve year old, bright pink "Easy Bake" oven left over from my eighth birthday.

I adjusted to his compulsions, his eccentricities, better than his roommate even seemed to.

"Bella," he would say, grabbing the bridge of his nose in the damn cute way he tended to do when frustrated or disgruntled, "you know you really don't have to change _anything_ you do. I'm afraid it'll make you uncomfortable, and I just want you to relax."

"I _am_ relaxed. I'm only uncomfortable when I'm worried about doing something that would make things harder for _you_," I said back boldly, looking up at him and trying to show how serious I meant what I had said.

I would do anything so that he could feel more at ease. What I couldn't really put into words was that he did the same for me every day, he just didn't know it. Every time he made a gesture showing how much he thought about what I wanted, such as waiting an extra twenty minutes for me to get out of class, or scraping the frosting off my cupcake because he knows I don't like it, are his adjustments to me.

The air grew slightly tense, as I saw the worry still evident in his bright green eyes.

"Oh, just shut up and get into the kitchen, woman," I said sarcastically with an eye-roll, hoping to break the silence.

Edward had promised to cook his usual Friday dinner for me, as well as Emmett and Rosalie, the latter of the two I tried to just avoid at all costs. I usually tried to convince myself I was a chameleon, hoping I could disappear into the wallpaper when we happened to be in the same room together.

I wasn't always successful.

I watched as Edward twirled and rolled out the dough for what was soon to become some completely badass homemade lasagna. His fingers gripped lightly onto the handles of the rolling pin lightly, twiddling it back and forth against the dough. As his right hand flitted into the flour bag and back to the dough, I felt my heart rate spike.

The very smell of flour made me want to go over to him, rip off his shirt, and take him right there on the counter top.

"Bella, holy fuck, your face is pretty much crimson. You're not going to pass out on us, are you? Because a night _without_ you would just be disastrous."

The sarcasm in Rosalie's voice wasn't lost on me, and only helped to provoke the blush that had been sparked by my distracted day dream.

"Rose," Edward warned sharply, keeping his eyes on his work but squaring his shoulders at the tone in her voice.

"What?" she snapped back, clipping her heels across the linoleum floor to confront Edward.

"Don't talk to my girlfriend that way," he said coldly, now layering the pan with the doughy pasta noodles, cheese, and sauce.

"Hey, man, don't talk to _my_ girlfriend that way," Emmett cut in, shouting at Edward from the living room.

"Don't talk to _my_ girlfriend that way," I said to no one in particular. It sounded witty and humorous when I'd thought it in my mind. With three sets of eyes turned on me, just blinking, and three sets of close-lipped mouths, I came to the conclusion that if I had given birth to the comment and had to name it, I would christen it Lame.

I guess I said the last word out loud, although I could only have mumbled it, because the next thing that came out of Emmett's mouth was,

"Hah, yeah it was."

And he burst into childlike giggles, rocking back and forth on the couch and shaking his head. Rosalie merely glared at him... then at Edward... then at me. Edward, well, Edward was looking at me with his upturned smirk, his eyes dancing. He winked at me as he popped the lasagna into the oven and set the timer.

Twenty awkward minutes, and three group tequila shots, later, thanks to Emmett's insistence, Edward was plating up his delicious layered concoction. He passed a loaded up plate to me, and the edge of my mouth curled upward at the sight.

Lasagna to the left, chopped chipotle salad to the right, garlic bread at the top. Perfectly thirded plate. Perfectly Edward.

"I've told you before, Eddie, I'm a big girl. I can feed myself; have been doing it _by myself_ since I could _fucking walk_."

"That's what she said," Emmett quipped in, obviously enabled by the shots taken before dinner.

Rosalie looked as if she wanted to spill pig's blood all over her boyfriend for the last comment, and I looked to Edward for a solution. Luckily, he caught my eye, cleared his throat, and tried to amend the situation.

"Hey, how about we finish up here really fast and catch a few drinks at the bar?"

I nodded in approval, cutting into the lasagna and swirling it around the salad dressing that I hadn't finished up. The last bite was just as mind blowing as the first, and I reminded myself to tell Edward that if he didn't want a whale for a girlfriend, he should cut back on his culinary skills.

"Alright, let's go," Edward said hurriedly to the table, grabbing his plate and swiping Emmett's from him. Emmett's fork dangled in front of his mouth as he stared at the unfinished plate now making its way to the sink.

"Hey man, what's the rush? I was gonna eat that."

"Your face has had enough marinara sauce for today, I think," Edward shot sarcastically, picking up my plate and taking it to join the others. He didn't attempt to mess with Rosalie's, and I, for one, was glad he left that lion in its cage.

**********************************

We made our way into the familiar bar, Edward manning the door and allowing each of us through before shutting the glass tightly behind him. I caught the sight of Alice immediately as her small black bob waded up to us through a crowd of much taller patrons.

"Oh my god, I'm so glad you all came to see me. Tonight has been the most stressful one I've had in awhile. Most of the idiots in the back are piss drunk, as usual, and Jessica is seriously the worst. I don't know how many times I have to explain to her what 'on tap' means. I would think ten would be sufficient, but no, she just keeps wrinkling up her stupid man-brow and looking like I just explained the meaning of life to her. I swear, if she fucks up one more—"

"Good to see you, too, Alice," I said, cutting into her diatribe before she really got started.

We shrugged into the normal booth, as Rosalie and Emmett made their way up to the bar to get drinks. Edward slid into the booth first, letting me have the outside spot. I reached under the table for his hand to tell him thanks. As my finger caught his, I felt an electric pulse shoot up through my shoulder and into my heart. I had a feeling that no matter how long we would be together that feeling would never go away.

He cocked his head to the side and nudged me with his shoulder.

"You're blushing again. You want to tell me what you were thinking about that got Rosalie so annoyed with you?"

"Not really," I said, cursing the fact that having him point out my reddening face only made it worse.

"Come on. A little hint?"

I took my hand from his and crossed them on top of the table. Burying my head into them and mumbling into the countertop a single word, "flour", hoping he hadn't heard me. The main reason I was embarrassed at the rather filthy thoughts filtering through my mind was the fact that Edward had made no effort to further our relationship _that way_.

I mean, we nearly slept together every night... but we never "slept together", slept together. I'm pretty sure it had most to do with me. I look at this amazing guy, with a perfect body and his carved, v-shaped pelvis that I just want to lick, sex hair I want to pull on, and fingers that know exactly what they're doing, and wonder what the fuck he's doing with me.

Pretty average, clumsy, inexperienced, slightly duck-footed me. Come to think of it, I think one of my nipples is lopsided as well. Not too much of a confidence booster. I mean, I know I'm not hideous, but I'm definitely no Rosalie.

"Bella? Hey, Bella, I'm sorry if I made you mad," he said, brushing his lips against my ear. It was only then that I noticed he'd been trying to talk to me for the past few minutes while I was busy dissecting my lacking sensuality.

"Hmm? Oh, no, don't worry about it. Just thinking about something else," I said absentmindedly, picking his hand up again and squeezing it.

As we waited in comfortable silence for Emmett and Rosalie to return with the drinks, a girl with bright red hair came clip clacking, heels, Prada purse, pearls and all up to our booth. I smiled, remembering back to high school and Jacob's insistence that so-called "gingers" were out to get him.

Never understood the fear, but there you have it... an explanation for why the girl misinterpreted my facial expression.

"Wipe that fucking smirk off of your face, you little mousy bitch," she said, leaning her face into my personal bubble and causing my mouth to immediately switch from entertained to scared shitless.

"I'm sorry, who the fuck do you think you are?" Edward said from behind me, looking at the girl with a piercing glare.

"Victoria, James' girlfriend, the guy your _little slut_ tried to come on to the other night."

Wha? I was seriously all sorts of confused. I looked to Edward with wide eyes and murmurred, "I swear, I didn't do that. I don't even remember the last time I tried to hit on someone, apart from you."

And it was true. In the realm of suave game skills, I had come up on the shallow end of the gene pool.

"You fucking little cunt," a voice to the right of me growled, grabbing hold of my arm tightly and almost wrenching it out of my socket. As a lit major, I was more appalled at his use of the "c" word. I don't like that bullshit one bit, and I decided I would tell him just that.

I guess in a fight or flight situation, my dumb ass is going to serve myself up on a silver platter. At my retort, I was being slung from the booth and onto my feet. However, being as balanced challenged as I am, I nearly fell on my ass. As my arm was still being held tightly, I sort of dangled and spun a bit, falling to my knees.

I looked up into his face for the first time, and realized that it was the same jackass that made me grope his tiny man bits, the one that Edward basically cleaned the floor with. Before I could even think of getting up from kneeling, the grip was lost on me. That's when I saw Edward sling back his arm, aiming straight for James' jaw.


	18. I Want to Punch a Bitch EPOV

~*~ Author's Note ~*~

Hey everyone. I know I was terrible leaving you with a cliffy the last time, but here's the rest of the chap. Beware, next update will contain lots of smuttiness. I would like to thank each and every one of you for your reviews. I've been so busy with school, work, and getting this chap out that I haven't been able to respond this time around, but I promise I read all of them and will be better at responding next time around.

Also, a huge thanks to the lazy yet discerning ficster for reccing my story.

And… seriously guys… this chapter was a disaster at the beginning, and without the help from my amazing angel of a beta fka Kinolaughs, now Kinowashere, you would not be reading this.

~*~ I Have Decided I Want to Punch A Bitch ~*~

EPOV

There I was, standing in the middle of the bar, fucking déjà vu hitting me just about as hard as I was about to hit the piece of scum that was messing with my Bella. God, as if this guy hadn't had enough already! I was about to rearrange his face for the second time. If I hated my OCD, it was no comparison to the hatred I held for people who just couldn't take a fucking hint.

Rhinoplasty, here you come.

But in order to make things chronologically correct, I guess I have to go back to the morning after I almost screwed up the best thing that's happened to me since color coordinated binders. God, those are a lifesaver.

I was well intent on making up for my error the night before. Every time I went back to the situation I'd left Bella in, the way I had just bolted without even thinking about what it might do to her, I wanted to deck myself in the face.

After dropping her off at her class, I attempted to make rather pathetic small talk. Yeah, I was trying to be damn Don Juan.

"So, Miss Swan, any plans for lunch this afternoon?" I quipped, hoping to pick up a rapport to which I could rinse out any bad aftertaste of my actions that may linger from the night before.

"Yes, actually, I was planning on meeting this incredibly sexy guy—"

My mind turned off at those words. Of course. The nice way of going about a brush off. I could feel my forehead begin to contort in the way it always does when trying to suppress an urge to run off and re-coordinate the shoes in my closet. God, if only I had something to fixate on.

Spare staples in my pocket from the receipt from the wine I had bought the night before.

My right hand fished into the side pocket of my jeans as I focused on flattening one.

Right side, bend to forty-five degree angle.

Did she really have another guy already?

Left side, bend coordinating.

Maybe it was just an excuse to get the hell away from me.

"Or not," she said quietly, piercing me with those pathetically beautiful sad eyes.

Back to right side, straighten out between middle finger and thumb.

Or not... maybe, just maybe, she had been talking figuratively about me?

Over to left side. Hide grimace from piercing end of staple nearly impaling my finger and finish the job.

No, this is what had gotten me in trouble before, always assuming that she was about to let go of me. I threw caution, as well as the stick-straight staple, into the wind and replied.

"You had me sweating there for a second. I thought I was going to have to beat up some self-absorbed prick, and pronto."

Although, technically, that made _me_ the self-absorbed prick she had been talking about.

She sputtered off some unintelligible response and turned to go into the building. Desperate for any way to hold onto her, if only for a few moments longer, my eyes scanned the space around her. Her bag lay abandoned on the stoop.

As I picked up the bag, I caught her right arm in my open hand.

"You may be needing this," I murmured, leaning in to lift her arm up and into the open loop. My fingers tingled with the feel of her, the closeness of her, as I fixed the other side for her as well. Jesus Christ, the way the wind whipped her hair around made her smell all the more intoxicating, and I thanked God we lived in the windy city.

I couldn't help myself. I had to get as close to her as I could.

"And you will definitely be needing _this_," I said into her ear, hoping that she would be receptive to my advances. I closed in and our lips touched once again.

Alright, so I wasn't sure she would be _at all _receptive to my close proximity, so I kind of took matters into my own hands...

Literally.

If I had thought her breasts were the epitome of perfection, it was nothing compared to the feel of her ass in her jeans. Thankfully, I was saved by the bell a few moments later, and pulled away before the affect she had on me became too apparent.

"Class, Swan," I said, clearing my throat and adjusting my belt buckle, "If you become a slacking, sexual deviant because of me, I don't think Alice would ever forgive me."

Her nose crinkled upward in skepticism at my statement. Goddamn it, her nose was so cute.

"You obviously don't know your sister very well."

I know she meant the statement to be playful and light, but my gut churned slightly at her words. I really didn't know Alice well at all. One thing Bella had given me was the gift of reconnecting with her, but there was still so much I had to atone for, so many mistakes I had made as a big brother.

"I'll meet you after class, Bella," I said, pushing away my negative thoughts and focusing in on her lower lip instead. With one last peck on her cheek, and... alright... I admit, one last squeeze of her amazing ass, I turned away.

My mind lingered on what Bella had said about my sister, and I could feel my nervous ticks begin to itch at me.

Five stairs—look back at Bella.

Seven steps and three cracks in the concrete—look back at Bella.

Into the grass—look back at Bella.

And she was always there, waiting for me to turn back to her.

* * *

To my complete astonishment, two weeks after what Bella and I had coined the "flour debacle of '09" we were still together. Actually, we'd become almost inseparable. I had spent a lot of time organizing how I was going to manage having her in my life while keeping myself sane with my normal routines.

That first day, instead of listening to my Advanced Bio Chem. professor, I'd spent the class time trying to think of everything that could go wrong the next time Bella and I attempted to be amorous. Unfortunately, it lead me nowhere, as the worst case scenario usually ended up with me curled up in the fetal position rocking back and forth in the corner of my room while Bella looked at me with disgust.

So I'd formulated a plan to sort of mold her into my every day, my routine, _my_ type of normalcy. I'd scrawled out the schedule I had tried to implement for the past three years.

Wake up. Run. Breakfast. Class. Lunch. Class. Homework. Cook dinner. More homework. Bed promptly at eleven.

The first half was easy enough, all the way up until class got out. Previously, I had filled the lonely hours up with homework so as not to be distracted, to make the days go by faster. Now that Bella was in the picture, my free time couldn't possibly be as structured as it was before.

I'd begun sketching out a time frame that I could complete homework in, giving me ample time for Bella, when my pen inadvertently crossed a giant X through the whole sheet of paper.

_Fuck, was I _really_about to "pencil in" Bella time?_ I'd wondered, making me feel like a total douche bag and knowing that wouldn't work. I became further frustrated with myself when my eyes scanned "bed promptly at eleven".

Immediately, my mind went to Bella when I saw the word "bed". My heart had beat furiously in my chest when I'd remembered the way she smelled, the way her lips did this cute little upturned smirk when she was flirting with me, the way her body... oh, God. I knew I would definitely have to figure out a way to not freak out completely when taking things further with her. (Transition suggestion for paragraph flow)

I'd folded the paper along its perforation, tearing it delicately from the notebook and folding it into perfect eighths before tossing it into the waste bin on my way out of the classroom. I knew I had to make a phone call, and quick.

With my back pressed against the cool brick exterior of the building, I'd waited impatiently while counting the rings on the other end. I'd begun to crack my left hand knuckles when it was answered. Right. Middle. Pinky. Finger.

"Ah, I figured I'd be getting a call from you. What took so long and how bunched are your panties?"

"Nice to talk to you too, Tanya," I'd said, completely nonplussed and not in the mood for her snarky comments, but completely relieved that she had picked up.

"Oh, come on, you just bring out the bitch in me. You should know that by now. Really, though, what's up? How's the Venetian concubine?"

I'd grimaced as her comment brought up the last time we talked. Things had definitely improved with Bella and me... but they'd also become equally complicated.

"Her name's Bella, T. I dunno, I think everything's okay. There was an issue with cookies and flour and topless—"

"Mmm, sounds like you're doing just fine there, Eddie. Kinky sex within the first few weeks, and you think you need my help? Damn, we didn't do anything but the missionary position for months of—"

"Tanya," I'd said, pronouncing both syllables loudly so as to shut her up. The last thing I'd wanted to talk about was our past relationship. For some reason the topic made me feel annoyed, and somewhat... jealous of myself. It hadn't been easy working up to a physical relationship with Tanya, but she hadn't been a virgin. She'd been very capable of taking the reins.

"Will you just let me finish a fucking sentence, please?"

"Alright, alright," she'd said, making me squirm as she let out an audible breath over the receiver, producing an irritating crinkling sound.

"Well, that's the thing. We haven't. I mean, I don't know how to go about..."

"Jeez, just spill already, Ed. As much as I love you, I really don't have all the time in the world to help you work out your kinks."

"Okay, well, Bella's not experienced really at all, and the last time things got heated I freaked out and... well, I ran out and left her half-naked and covered in flour."

The line was fucking silent then.

I'd held my breath while counting down the seconds before Tanya would inevitably ream my ass with her verbal prowess.

Instead, laughter hit my ears from the other end of the line.

"Wa-wa-wait," she'd stuttered, causing me to imagine the look of amusement on her face. "Oh G-God, Edward. Tell me you-you didn't. Wait one sec. Wait."

I'd listened as she took deep breaths on the other end of the phone.

"Okay, sorry about that. Umm, she's still with you after all of _that_?"

"Yeah," I'd responded, in absolute wonder to why she _had_ stayed, "I explained about my condition, and she's been really great about it. But that whole catastrophe aside, what should I do about me and her, you know, being together?"

"Hmmm," she'd hummed, and I imagined her tapping her perfectly manicured nails on her knee. "The way I always dealt with you was to take things really slow. Acclimate her to your environment. Maybe have her over for dinner. Let her stay in your bed a few nights. That way, when something does happen, it'll be more familiar to you and you won't be as prone to pulling a Cullen freak-out as usual."

"Alright. Go slowly and acclimate. Got it," I'd said, feeling the pit in my stomach subside slightly. Tanya had had a valid point, and if anyone knew how to deal with my hang-ups, it was her.

"Okay then, well I have a seminar to book to so I have to let you go. Oh, and one last thing," she'd said, pausing as I gave a nod that I knew she couldn't see, "when you do implement Operation Get Edward Laid without Fucking Everything Up, clue Bella in. Girls hate being shot down."

"Mmm," was all I'd said in return. I'd known Bella was open to my disorder, but I wasn't sure how well that conversation would go.

"Edward," she'd said back, sternly and sharply, "if she loves you, she won't care how long she has to wait or how weird the situation may be."

"Kay. Thanks, T," I'd muttered, still not completely convinced.

"Anytime, Eddie, and watch the tongue."

"Fuck, Tanya, really?"

"Bye!" she'd drawled, and with a click, she was gone.

Over the next fourteen days I had taken into account everything that Tanya had said, minus telling Bella about Operation GEL FEU. After the first few days, she spent almost all of her free time at my apartment.

And to be honest, the first week was murder. Even though I wasn't disclosing my master plan, I was still trying fucking hard to be pretty honest. So every time she did something that messed with my order, I forced myself to say something... and I felt like a prick each and every time.

The most awkward moment was asking her to sleep over... without any of the implications that sleeping over had. She'd tried full force to push things along after I had shut off the light and twiddled my iPod to my night playlist. I mean, the girl's fingers were pulling up and over and under my boxers and I wanted to scream.

On the one hand, fuck. There was a gorgeous, amazingly understanding, funny person I _loved_ in my bed trying to accost me.

On the other hand, _fuck_. Gorgeous, amazingly understanding, funny person I loved in my bed trying to _accost_ me.

As hard as it was, I pressed lightly on her wrist and flipped her around to face away from me. I held her tightly to me, trying to ignore the way her body felt against mine and the way her hair tickled my chin. Instead, I forced my attention to the fact that I was able to handle having another person sharing my bed.

Even Tanya and I hadn't been able to manage that... not that it was that much of an issue in high school. But with our arrangement in college, she and I both knew that about five minutes after we were through, I would try to nonchalantly make my way into the guest bedroom.

But I didn't want that with Bella. When we finally did take the step to be together, I wanted to have my compulsions completely in order so that I could hold her as long as she needed. She at least deserved that fucking much.

So things got easier, and Bella caught on to the things that I seemed to have the most trouble with, the primary one being the fact that I considered myself a burden to her. And let's face it, as I noticed her bent over and trying to rearrange my shoes that she had, in that typically cute Bella way, tripped over and skewed, I realized I had been the biggest ass in the world.

Tonight, I decided to put her mind at ease and hopefully get her to feel comfortable with me.

"Bella, you know you really don't have to change _anything_ you do. I'm afraid it'll make you uncomfortable, and I just want you to relax."

Every word I said was true, but I hated myself a little bit for being thankful that she was willing to change some of her habits, because I did mean what I said.

"I _am_ relaxed," she replied, putting on the stubborn face that made me involuntarily smile, "I'm only uncomfortable when I'm worried about doing something that would make things harder for _you_."

And that was what worried me about Bella. I could see it in her sometimes, the look that she got when she felt as if it were her duty to pick up everyone's shit and carry it on her back just so that they could walk a little bit lighter.

"Oh, just shut up and get into the kitchen woman," she said, rolling her eyes and ushering me into the kitchen.

I knew she was trying to ease my concern, but that's exactly what had provoked the concern in the first place. But I let it go, and made my way into the kitchen to finish preparing Emmett's and my ritual Friday dinner.

I let myself become immersed in rolling the dough. The order of it soothed my nerves, which was half of the reason why I had picked lasagna in the first place. I had a feeling I would need my counting, my meticulous corner sculpting, in order to cut the tension that I would be feeling, because tonight Rosalie was joining us.

Rosalie is not a completely heinous bitch. She's only a complete self-absorbed psychopath when she doesn't get what she wants. That's why I was so nervous about having Bella over. If she was normally cold to me, I could only guess how harsh she would be once I started bringing her over.

Let's just say I had run into Rosalie a time or two around campus, and each time I'd politely refused her rather aggressive advances. I'm sorry, but jamming me up against a classroom door and trying to fondle me while I'm in the middle of worrying about a midterm and stepping on the third crack in a fucking day is not the way to this guy's heart.

After she met Emmett, she was obviously head-over-heels, and our few encounters, if that's what you could call them, had become somewhat taboo. I just hoped that she would behave herself a bit, because I knew for damn sure that Emmett was no help when it came to controlling Rosalie's venomous mouth.

I kept my ears pricked as I reached into the bag and took out more flour, spreading some over the rolling pin in order to keep the dough from sticking. As soon as the dry aroma hit my nose, I felt my pants grow tight.

God, I would never be able to bake again, not when flour and Bella's assets had become so entwined.

"Bella, holy fuck, your face is pretty much crimson. You're not going to pass out on us, are you? Because a night _without_ you would just be disastrous."

Aaaannnd... cue bitchy, jealous Rosalie.

"Rose," I warned, hoping she would just drop it and leave Bella the fuck alone. The last thing I wanted to do was get into a confrontation tonight. Although I had been adjusting to the new arrangements, I was feeling strained and more irritable than usual.

"What?" she said snapped snottily. I swear to Holy Hera there is a designated course for speaking "condescending bitch" in every single sorority on this campus.

"Don't talk to my girlfriend that way," I replied, trying to steady my breathing by beginning to layer the lasagna in the pan in front of me.

"Hey, man, don't talk to my girlfriend that way."

Yeah, Emmett had to open his dumb mouth. I had hoped he'd be so glued to the television that he wouldn't notice our conversation, but I should have known better. When it came to Rosalie, he was attuned to every syllable out of her sculpted mouth.

Before I could make a retort, a light flitting voice cut in. "Don't talk to _my_ girlfriend that way."

I turned to face Bella, my mouth still tight from being pissed at Rosalie. The room was in complete silence for a few moments before it was interrupted by Emmett's tumultuous giggles. Yes, a grown man weighing over two hundred pounds could be reduced to Goldilocks giggles at the mention of a gay joke.

He swaggered over to the liquor cabinet, and clinked down the beer he'd clutched in his hand to pull down our bottle of Patron.

"Come on, everyone. We just need to loosen up. I'm a fucking doctor and you all need shots!"

The whole room groaned at his terrible joke, but took the shot glasses anyway. After three a piece, Bella leaned over to me.

"You know, you're the one that's going to be a certified doctor. I think _you_ should be administering me my shots, not Emmett," she whispered.

Holy Fuck.

"Erm, lasagna's ready," I sputtered hastily, making my way to the oven and fighting back the second boner in the past thirty minutes. That girl was going to be serious trouble, and I loved that about her.

"I've told you before, Eddie, I'm a big girl. I can feed myself; have been doing it by myself since I could fucking walk," Rosalie sneered as I attempted, as always, to fill her plate.

"That's what she said," Emmett quipped in with a slight slur. Great, he was already feeling the alcohol.

The thing is, those plates were fucking _perfect_. The lasagna was to the left, chipotle salad to the right, garlic bread at the top. The garlic bread was at the top so as not to become soppy from the sauce from the lasagna, the salad on the right so that you could work around the plate in a clockwise position. Salad first, then the lasagna, which was evenly squared and sectioned so that if cut into ninths it would be just enough for nine of the ten cuts of two five-sectioned pieces of bread, leaving the last cut to sop up the rest of the sauce on the plate.

"Hey, how about we finish up here really fast and catch a few drinks at the bar?" I said, hoping to diffuse the situation. The last thing I wanted was for Bella to feel awkward in any way, and... let's face it... the dinner was already going pretty disastrously. I'm not sure even Jesus could save it.

After only a few minutes of awkward silence accompanied by Rosalie looking as if she were going to tie Emmett to a stake and set it on fire, Bella's pleading eyes caught mine.

"Alright, let's go," I said, giving a small wink in her direction and taking Emmett's plate from him. I was sure if more drinks were involved, he wouldn't mind being deprived of a whole meal.

"Hey man, what's the rush? I was gonna eat that," he sputtered, his fork still holding a precariously dangling piece of lasagna noodle.

"Your face has had enough marinara sauce for today, I think," I retaliated, looking into his tomato-speckled face. Funny, I'd been thinking too much about making sure Bella was comfortable enough to notice.

* * *

With some slight huffing and puffing from Rosalie, we made it to the front of the bar.

"Don't see why I'd want to be here on my night off. Feel like I live here anyway."

"Oh, come on baby. Rosie, babe, come on. It'll be fun, and you can make me that new shot you were talking about. I bet it's great, if you came up with it," Emmett nearly cooed into her ear, grabbing onto her waist and giving her a peck on the cheek.

As soon as we reached the bar, a very familiar black ball of hair zoomed up to greet us. Alice grabbed hold of Bella's hands and addressed the group, babbling on about some new waitress. She looked familiar, and I was pretty sure I'd seen her around somewhere.

Before I could say anything, maybe ask how she was doing, Bella was closing off the conversation.

"Good to see you, too, Alice."

And I was being dragged back to my normal booth, the booth where I had first left the olive. It was an indescribable feeling to know that this time, as I slid into the seat, I knew I wouldn't be alone. Bella would be right next to me.

Even the sudden death glare I caught Rosalie sending Bella from over at the bar was not enough to dampen the feeling of happiness I felt at having Bella here by my side instead of waiting on me with a tray precariously balanced on one hand. Just the same, it was a little disconcerting. I looked over at her, to make sure that she hadn't picked up on the Queen Bitch's hostility and noticed she looked embarrassed.

"You're blushing again," I said as I peered to my right to catch Bella trying to shrug her hair in front of her face, "You want to tell me what you were thinking about that got Rosalie so annoyed with you?"

I could only imagine. The commercials in between the football games were usually pretty risqué, and I knew for a fact that Bella blushed at the sight of a pair of pajama pants, let alone scantily clad people basking in a sea of Smirnoff. However endearing her blushes were, I was sure they were fueling Rosalie's hostility. Bella's candid innocence brought out the worst in Rosalie. But God, the color of her cheeks. Rosalie or no Rosalie, I couldn't help myself from teasing her more in order to bring out the rosy hue.

"Not really," she murmured, the redness spreading from her cheeks and down to her neck, her long, slender neck...

"Come on. A little hint?"

She seemed to clam up, but tequila shots had a tendency to make me more outspoken and calm. I wanted to make her blush even more; see how much I could tease her.

"What? Did you see some delectably juicy man candy? Some guys splashing around in Axe lagoon?"

Still no response. Her eyes had become unresponsive and almost upset, her mouth drawn tightly. Then she buried her head into her folded arms and muttered something under her breath.

"Bella? Hey, Bella, I'm sorry if I made you mad," I said, trying desperately to rectify the situation. I'd obviously gone too far in the teasing. I touched my lips to her ears. Once. Twice. Three times.

Damn it. I tried to steady my breath as I reined in my compulsions.

"Hmm? Oh, no, don't worry about it. Just thinking about something else," she said, still feeling distant. But she grabbed onto my hand, which I realized had been twiddling furiously in its normal pattern. My breathing subsided and I felt instantly comforted by her touch.

"Wipe that fucking smirk off of your face, you little mousy bitch."

I was taken out of my Bella-induced calm by a high-pitched voice. Whoa, little fire-crotch did _not _just call my girlfriend a bitch.

"I'm sorry, who the fuck do you think you are?" I spouted off. I wanted to pluck out every single fucking iridescent eyebrow on the bitch's face.

"Victoria, James' girlfriend, the guy your little slut tried to come on to the other night."

Bella's hair whipped my face as she spun around to face me with a panicked expression. She tried to reassure me that she hadn't been hitting on other guys behind my back, but that was the least of my worries. I knew and trusted Bella, and the only thing on my mind was the fire-crotch demon in front of us.

Okay, now normally I would be opposed to punching the fuck out of a girl, but this one looked more like a dude to me, so I was about to open hell fire. Before I had the chance to jump over Bella, I was rudely interrupted by none other than that groin-grabbing, scum of the earth frat boy who had molested Bella a few weeks ago.

"You fucking little cunt."

Bella's shoulder pinned me to the back of the booth as I made to lunge for him. She slid further towards him, grabbing the collar of his shirt.

"Well at least you're speaking truthfully now, because after all the places your red-headed piece of trash has been, she certainly doesn't have a little one."

I was paralyzed, amazed by Bella's quick response... that was, until James nearly ripped her arm out of her socket. I hadn't even seen him grab onto her arm due to the angle of the booth. As she slid onto the floor, I was able to scoot out and pulled my arm back, ready to beat the shit out of the motherfucker.

Just as I was about to strike, Bella's eyes flitted and her pupils rolled into the back of her head. I looked to James' face, and blood was rolling down his lip and past his chin. Bella's elbow must have hooked him as she went down.

My fist unclenched as I realized that Bella was passing out and was going to hit the floor. I dove, and was able to catch her before she hit the ground. Her head grazed the floor, but I was fairly certain that she would be alright.

"Alice!" I yelled over the now crowded bar, "Alice! Call the police now!"

* * *

Thirty minutes later the police arrived, taking each person's testimony and taking James Mc ScumFuck away in handcuffs.

"Thank God you didn't swing, Edward, or you'd be going in with him," Alice breathed, applying a bag of ice to Bella's head. The paramedics had insisted on taking her in, but I'd already checked her myself and knew how much Bella detested hospitals. It may hurt the charges that would be filed against James, but I was pretty sure she wouldn't mind.

She had told me once that it was ironic she was dating someone bound for medical school, as she had always been completely terrified of doctors and anything medical after her numerous bone breaks. I didn't think waking up in a sterile hospital room would be beneficial to her.

"Hey you," she murmured as her eyes opened and locked on mine. Those were the two sweetest words I could have heard at the time.

"Hey Bells," I whispered back, taking the ice pack from Alice and peering into her eyes. Dilation normal. Focus normal. I kissed her lips lightly, completely relieved.

"Help me up?"

"Are you sure? You should lie down. It's been a pretty eventful night. How's your shoulder?"

I could tell she was trying not to grimace as she moved it, but I had checked her rotary function and everything checked out normal. She would bruise, but nothing had been dislocated.

"Yep," she said determinedly, reaching out for my unoccupied hand.

I sighed in defeat. If she asked anything of me, I had a feeling I would oblige.

Her body seemed fragile as I gained my stance and swept her back onto her feet. I clutched her body to mine, letting her rest her chin on my shoulder.

"I think I need to take a trip to the restroom. Take me?"

"Sure, of course," I said, placing my hands under her backside and letting her straddle me so as to carry her.

"Promise?" she breathed, her mouth still next to my ear.

"Whatever you want, it's yours."


	19. Fuck Olives BPOV

-1**~*~ Author's Note ~*~**

So sorry for all who got a notification for an update... I swear I put the chap up on fanfic last night, but aparently it has mysteriously disappeared. I want to just say thanks to all of those that PMed me about it. :)

Thanks so much to everyone that reviews. Really... my heart leaps up into my throat every time I'm in class or at work and check my e-mail on my phone and see: /review... It's the highlight of my day.

A big as hug and thanks to **kinowashere**, my kick ass beta, for not laughing at me trying to do semi-smut and for making the chap as awesome as it is.

Oh, and Edward is a hell of a lot more coherent when he's getting it on, so look forward to EPOV.

**~*~ Fuck Olives ~*~**

**BPOV:**

When I came to, I wondered for a brief second whether I had died or not... and if I had what the hell I was doing in heaven? I wasn't the most deviant person; however I was pretty sure TPing the principal's house with condoms when I was in high school didn't merit a ticket to H town.

Yet... Holy Jesus Christ on a stick... here I was, my lips mere inches from Edward's, and to me, it was the only heaven I had ever dreamed of. The way his breath blew into my face, slightly fluttering my bangs out of my eyes, was enough to make me weak at the knees.

His concerned, brilliant eyes bore into mine and suddenly James, the fight, the bar, everything all disappeared. There was only him and me.

"Hey you," I said, moreso for my own benefit than for his, hoping that he would respond to dispel my doubts of reality.

"Hey Bells," he replied, not looking into my eyes, rather looking _at_ them. Blame it on the concussion, but I didn't give two shits about anything else as his lips met mine. He belonged to me, and my heart began pounding at that realization.

"Help me up?" I asked timidly, knowing full well that the future Dr. Cullen in Edward would be none too willing to comply with my request.

Like clockwork, he began protesting. I heard something about my shoulder and taking it easy and me being hurt, but quite honestly my bodily injuries were the last thing on my mind.

"Yep," I popped out to all of his questions, hoping he would just drop it and let me up and closer to him.

To my astonishment, he gave in easily, extending his hand to me, sweeping me up off the floor, and cradling my back in his steady arm.

That's when, be it the head injury or the tequila, I came up with what I considered an ingenious plan.

"I think I need a trip to the restroom. Take me?"

"Sure, of course," he replied, as I knew he would. This had gone on long enough. We'd been together for over a month, and... alright, so sue me. I'm an English major and live for double entendres. If he agreed to take me, then goddamnit, he'd be _taking me_.

Maybe I was trapping him a _little_ with those words, but the buzz of the Patron and the rush from seeing him so brutal in action left me needy and… well, friggin' horny as a mountain goat, dammit!

Don't judge. You'd do the same if you were in my position... yeah.

"Promise?" I questioned breathily, after he grabbed me up into his arms and I straddled his lean figure. I wanted this to be fool-proof. I assumed that he couldn't possibly misconstrue my meaning. Hell, I was basically dry-humping him through my jeans as he leaned towards me.

Isabella Marie Swan: Sexually suggestional, game savvy queen.

I'm trying not to snort in disagreement at myself right now.

"Whatever you want, it's yours," he replied into my ear.

Frickin' hell yes, _whatever_ I want!

My chin caught the crick of his neck as he carried me up the flight of stairs. I pressed my teeth together as my entire body bounced after each step.

I felt his grip leave my ass as he pushed on the swivel door of the girl's bathroom, twirling me around so that he could press the lock.

Mmmm... that click? Yeah, that was when I thought it was obvious that he was making sure an over zealous Emmett or Alice wouldn't dare come through that door.

"Bella, are you alright? Do you feel sick? Here, let me put you by the toilet. Just try to take large, deep brea—"

"I'm fine," I said, cutting into his worried diatribe. I mustered all of the courage I possibly could and continued. "Well, I will be as long as you keep your promise."

His grip left me as I felt my feet hit the floor. His arms were still around me, and he peered down with those gorgeously torturous confused eyes.

"But Bella, we're _in_ the bathroom," he replied, scrunching his forehead and taking my wrist in his hand. His index and middle fingers pressed against the inside of my arm. I felt my veins pulse against the bones in his fingers as my heart rate picked up.

"What are you doing?"

"Monitoring your pulse. If you're still confused about your surroundings I need to make sure you haven't suffered a larger episode than I thought."

Oh, Jesus Christ, would he ever be able to just relax?

Pretty sure I said that one out loud.

"What do you mean?" he asked, resuming his questioning and failing to let go of my wrist.

"I mean... I, well, damn it Edward, I wanted... you promised to... erm, _take_ me," I almost whispered, like a little kid trying to remind her parent she was promised dessert.

Yeah, if I were a constellation they would christen me Pathetica Major. Instead of being represented by a W like Cassiopeia, my stars would form a V in representation of my ever-hymenal status.

"I promised... wait, what?"

And that's when my blood began to boil. With the ordeal we'd just gone through, and all of the nights sleeping together without moving anywhere past first base, and the way he was looking with his disheveled hair and bright concern, I broke. Anger bubbled out of me and the words started to tumble out of my mouth.

"Goddamnit, Edward, I'm your _girlfriend_! I want to love you, and touch you, and kiss you, and freaking do _everything _a girlfriend does with you. I shouldn't have to beg you for it. I mean, if you aren't interested in me that way at all, just say so and stop torturing me."

At some point in the speech, I had broken free from his hands and now had my own on my hips. I'm sure my face was beet red, but I didn't care. Screw it! I knew there had always been a slim chance in hell that he was actually interested in me, but having it right here in front of my face was something else.

If I weren't so furious, I'd have been crushed.

"Is that what this is about?" he said back, his voice raised slightly as he advanced towards me. "Is that it? You don't think I _want_ you? You don't think this has been just as hard on me as it has you? Really, Bella, have I given you that dismal an impression of how I feel about you? I love _you_, all of you, god _fucking_ damn it!"

In an instant, his long fingers grabbed onto my buckled elbows, pulling my arms up to him and around his neck. He grabbed at my hips roughly as he bent down to lay his forehead onto mine.

"You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, or will ever see. You make me hard just by blinking your eyes. I want you so badly it physically hurts. When will you _see_ that?"

My breathing was ragged, matching his. We were still connected and my lips were mere inches from his. I felt one of my eyebrows quirk upward at him.

"When you show me."

There. Cat out of the bag. God, his rant had made me wet, and as much as I craved the sound of his voice, I couldn't take anymore talking right now. Although I wasn't sure he would go through with anything, I was hopeful. All I knew was that he had a lot to prove.

We stood in silence for a moment, and I thought I saw a fleeting look of concern... or maybe sadness... cross his face before he took one long breath and placed his lips on mine. He cradled my lower lip between his; biting on it slightly as his hand became tangled in my hair.

The way he kissed me made my knees literally grow weak. He must have sensed it, because his other hand caught the small of my back as he pressed me into him. This was a side of him I hadn't seen since the flour fiasco. He was hard and rough and tasted of salty vodka, tequila, and Edward.

Before I knew what was happening, we were moving and I was being shuffled backwards into the cold, stone wall. His fingers, normally tentative and calculating, had slipped under my shirt and were moving with a furious confidence. In one fell swoop, my shirt was up and over my head.

I attempted to grab hold of the bottom of his sweater but he swatted my hands away.

"No, Bella, from now on I'm showing you how much _I_ need _you_," he breathed huskily into my ear, pulling the sweater over his head and discarding it into the bathroom sink.

I wondered for a brief second whether my idea was really a good one. I hadn't taken into account his need for order and control, and my mind flashed back to the night of the cookie baking date and how it had ended up.

But then he started kissing my neck and, well…screw it! No one in my position would be able to think about anything but the fact that an amazingly sexy, shirtless boyfriend was nicking their ear with his teeth. I felt goose bumps break out over my naked shoulders as his teeth snaked over my bra strap.

In a flash my breasts were completely exposed, and they perked up both from the cold and from the fact that Edward had begun to pull on the zipper of my jeans. I had to fight the urge to cover them back up, only able to do so by remembering Edward's words in my kitchen…

_You're beautiful. Don't cover yourself up, ever._

He slipped his thumbs under the top of the waistband and slid them off my legs, bending down to my ankles.

After they were removed, he kissed up my calves from my ankles, darting back and forth between right and left, leaving me shaking and hoping he was planning on following through with his actions.

As if he'd heard what I had been thinking, he cupped both sides of my ass and lifted me up onto the sink. I watched as he unbuckled his belt with fumbling fingers and dropped his pants to his feet, taking his boxers with them.

I had never seen all of him, and before I could snake my eyes down his body his lips attacked mine. I felt pressure against my groin as I tried to comprehend what was happening. As I was catching my breath, his hand nudged the bottom of my chin, forcing my eyes to lock with his.

"Bella, I love you."

Those four words would be imbedded in me forever. I think I replied back, but my mind grew fuzzy with... well, God... with the amazing creature in front of me and what he was doing to me.

His fingers moved from my face down to a spot only I had ever touched. And...

Holyjesustitfuck, he obviously knew what he was doing there.

As my breathing grew ragged, I felt his body shift and his lips leave mine as he grabbed onto the small of my back.

. Yeah, it hurt. A lot. But it was a weird, stretching pain conflicting with the amazing feeling his fingers were making shoot through me. I didn't know whether to cry and tell him to stop, or to scream and beg him for more.

I ended up taking the middle ground and let out a small squeak. Like a mouse. Awesome.

The next minutes were a daze. The pain flittered in and out, coupled with both the awe of losing my virginity to this amazing man and the continued circulation of his thumb. He began moving back and forth inside me, while at the same time bringing out sensations in me that I never thought were possible.

Yeah, I'd indulged in my own little "oh, the faucet's good for more than stirring up bubble bath" things, but that was no comparison to him touching me. And the warmth started creeping out of my legs and into my back, up my spine and into my arms...

I pretty much lost consciousness as he, and his hands, consumed me.

* * *

"Mmmm, we should probably go back down to the bar," I murmured, barely able to keep my eyes open as my arms cradled his neck.

Edward had succeeded in making me feel like a jellyfish, completely relaxed and floating. I was even more grateful that I hadn't gone through with the close call with Jake in high school. This was just, well, perfect.

"Yes, we should," he answered.

Ummm, my heart stopped beating. Right there. His voice was tight and cold and so not... _Edward_-like. I wanted to ask him what was bothering, if maybe taking my V card in a less than clean bar bathroom was too high on the OCD scale for him to handle.

I couldn't get the words out, and settled for a questioning expression. I was met with the most blank expression I have ever seen on a human face. He looked like a damn Old Navy mannequin... and those aren't sexy, they're actually pretty freaking disturbing.

He stabilized me down the stairs, and as we entered the main bar area he slid us over to Alice.

"Alice, can you hold on to Bella for me? Maybe help her back home?"

I gawked at him as the arms around me turned from muscular and safe into small, wiry, and tentative.

"And Rosalie?!" he shouted at the end of the bar where she and Emmett were standing. "The usual, please."

Rosalie looked taken aback, but wiggled out of Emmett's embrace to the wall of glass bottles. I watched, my mouth still open, as he strode to the far side of the bar near the front door.

"Bella, what just—" Alice attempted to ask.

I cut her off. God damn it. Of course I would be this stupid. I'd pushed him, I probably sucked at whatever we'd just done, and the last place I wanted to be was there. I felt like melting into a pathetic puddle.

"Alice, it's fine. I'm going home. Sorry I couldn't stay longer. Bye."

I said it all in a rush, not wanting the tears that had welled up in my eyes to spill over. I made my way across the room, shuddering briefly as I saw Rosalie drop Edward's olives into his glass.

I thought I caught a whiff of his scent as I passed by him and his body stiffened. Probably repulsed by the very thought of me. I looked back once more before making my way to the door, and his back was still to me, twiddling a string of olives in his fingers; the same fingers that had previously...

God fricking damn it.

He passed me off. He obviously couldn't ever get what he wanted, what he needed, from me. It was over... _over._

My hands pressed forcefully on the door making the little bells on the handle tinkle. As my face hit the cold Chicago wind, I only had one thought.

_Fuck olives._


	20. Author's Note BROWNIEPOV

**~*~ Author's Note ~*~**

**Hey everyone, just wanted to pop in and get in touch with you all after the mixed reviews from the last chapter. Take a deep, long breath and trust me, please. Yeah, the situation was crappy for both OCDward and Bella, but they were kind of asking for it to happen.**

**Edward hasn't been too upfront about his plans to work up to becoming more intimate with Bella, and Bella hasn't been upfront about her own insecurities in the area. Never fear, Bella is not going to morph into some manipulative bitch (eh, she's had her moment but everyone makes mistakes) and there's no way in hell Edward will become a groveling wrist-cutter.**

**Please just wait for EPOV. Promise it'll all become clear.**

**So, I have the next chapter written. Just a bit of editing and it's off to my beta. It should be up by early next week at the latest.**

**Thank you all for your reviews. I really do enjoy constructive criticism, and want you to know that all of your voices are heard :)**

**Cheers,**

**browniechadowes**


	21. Pinky Promise EPOV

**~*~ Author's Note ~*~**

**It was definitely bittersweet when I hit over 500 reviews. I appreciate every single one, positive and negative, and know some of you were less than happy with the last chapter. I was actually pretty surprised by the mixed reviews, but I guess I've had the outline of the whole story penned down for a while so I know what's going on later.**

**Guess that's one of the problems with two POVs.**

**Anywho, I really do love reading ALL reviews, and would like to thank you all for taking the time to read my story.**

**Oh, and before you think this is just a complete retelling of the last chap in EPOV, it's not. Lots of clarification and it goes a bit further.**

**Jesus, that was a long AN. Sorry for that :/**

**As always a HUGE thanks to my beta kinowashere**, for getting this back to me so fast. Seriously the best beta ever.

And no... I don't own Twilight.

~*~I Have Decided to Pinky Promise~*~

I rushed up the stairs like a world champion sprinter, thankful that I'd spent so much time running track in high school. My only goal was to get Bella to the bathroom, where she needed to be, pronto. I only hoped her nausea wouldn't peak until I got her near the toilet.

I had checked for all the vital signs of a serious concussion, and she seemed to be fine, but there was no way in hell that I was going to take any chances with her. If she was feeling sick, I may have missed a sign that she wasn't as well as I'd thought.

And if she wasn't, I had half a mind to fucking storm into Smarmy McDickhead's jail cell and get another punch in myself.

We reached the bathroom, and I struggled slightly to close the door behind us, making sure I locked it. If Bella was vomiting I didn't want her worrying about anyone intruding.

I pulled her to me, and my nose was assaulted with her scent. Good God, how did I deserve her? She was flustered, breathing hard, and her hair was askew from the sweat that had accumulated when she fainted... she was perfect. I continued to ask if she was okay, and was in the middle of telling her to calm down her breathing when she interrupted me.

"I'm fine. Well, I will be as long as you keep your promise."

Huh?

She had asked me to take her to the bathroom, and we most definitely were _in_ the bathroom. I told her as much, and was worried once more that I hadn't caught any further signs of a concussion. Maybe I should have let the paramedics take her to—

"What are you doing?" she asked as I found her pulse and tried to count her heart rate.

"Monitoring your pulse," I replied.

One-one thousand, two- one thousand, three- one thousand. I felt as her vein pattered furiously against the pressure of my thumb.

"If you're still confused about your surroundings I need to make sure you haven't suffered a larger episode than I thought," I continued, distractedly trying to determine what was causing her elevated heart rate. Shock, maybe? Oh shit. The bathroom was definitely not the place to handle that. I really should have made her go to the hospital, what the hell was I think-

"Will you ever be able to relax?"

I startled at the tone of her voice. It seemed agitated and not at all like her normal, light melodic tone.

"What do you mean?"

Seriously, if she expected me to be calm and collected after some frat-tastic scumbag nearly pulled her arm out of her socket, she was going to be seriously disappointed. At the very thought of James even _touching_ her, my blood began to boil.

She stammered, looking away from my eyes, and trying to spit out something. I almost didn't catch her words. I loved it when she tripped over her sentences. It was so... well... Bella. I was lost in my reverie at how fucking cute she was until I caught the last part of her botched sentence.

"...you promised to... erm, _take_ me."

"I promised... wait, what?" I asked back. If she was seriously demanding what I thought she was, I knew I was about to be completely torn. See, let's recap about, oh, five hours ago to before I picked Bella up for dinner:

Bella had been hinting to me for the past few weeks that she was ready to take things along in the physical department, and to be quite honest, it was fucking murder holding her off until I felt like I could handle it. But tonight, tonight was going to be _the_ night.

Yeah, I went all John Cusack on my room in order to prepare for her. Candles ready to be lit, a track full of songs I'd written that were solely inspired by her in the player, and her favorite flowers, daisies, all over the freaking room. It actually looked like a chick flick threw up all over in there, but I smiled like a damn idiot getting it ready.

Cheesy or not, I was proud of my handiwork.

To top it off, Emmett had promised to convince Rosalie to go to her apartment to stay for once. We would have the whole place to ourselves, and I felt certain after all of the planning, the night would go off with less than a hiccup. It was perfect—the way it should be for her first time.

The stinky, dirty, gross-as-hell public bathroom in a bar on the other hand—please, God, no.

Somehow I'd amanged to keep her out of my room during the disasterous lasagna dinner, and was wildly thinking of a way to get her back to the room now. And while the plan had been for Emmett to take Rosalie back to her place for the night afterwards, I hadn't seen making a stop at the bar being such a huge interruption to my plan. If anything I had thought it might make it easier.

I figured it would give us a little time to calm down and have a few well-deserved drinks after Rosalie's bitchiness, and it would allow Emmett to take Rose back to her place without an awkward moment at the door of my apartment.

At the bar, they'd be making a more obvious exit so that I could seduce my virgin girlfriend.

I hadn't counted on James being there, or on Bella finally hitting her limit.

While I was excited at the prospect that she was as ready as I was tonight, I needed to try to find the right way to convince Bella to go back to my apartment instead of this. As I was searching for the right words, she interrupted my thoughts yet again.

The slight grin I'd been wearing as a result of my musings was smacked off of my face by the words coming out of her mouth.

"I want to love you, and touch you, and kiss you, and freaking do _everything_ a girlfriend does with you. I shouldn't have to beg you for it. I mean, if you aren't interested in me that way at all just say so and stop torturing me."

Her hand left mine and I sat in shock for a second. Did she really feel that way? I knew she was feeling a little frustrated, but did she really think she wasn't good enough for me... that I wasn't _interested_ in her? I'm sorry, but no one dogs my girlfriend, not even, well, my girlfriend.

"Is that it? You don't think I _want_ you? You don't think this has been just as hard on me as it has on you? Really, Bella, have I given you that dismal an impression of how I feel about you? I love _you_, all of you, God _fucking _damn it!"

Yeah, I was pissed. But in all honesty I was more pissed at myself for not making it damn clear to her just how deeply I felt for her. I mean, I had become _someone_ because of her. Before I'd just been a walking biology textbook, a live-in, pre-programmed maid for Emmett, that neurotic kid who sits in the back and always kills the grade curve.

I had to touch her. Make it right. Let her know that she was everything to me. I took her into my arms and pressed my forehead onto hers.

"You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, or will ever see. You make me hard just by blinking your eyes."

I was prodded to go on by the heat radiating off of her face at my words.

"I want you so badly it physically hurts. When will you _see_ that?"

"When you show me," she said, daring me to continue.

My mind flashed back to all of the conversations with Tanya, to all of the planning I'd done, to the bed waiting for us back at my place. I wanted to scream, to pull her out of the bathroom and take her out of the bar. But the way she was looking at me, full of hope and love, made me re-evaluate.

Could she really not wait? Did it have to be here, like this?

If this _was_ what she truly wanted, I'd give it to her... because, fuck, I would do anything for her. Denying her now would just feed into her notion that I wasn't terribly, painfully attracted to her. I'd helped feed those thoughts by not touching her, by pushing her physicality away.

I pushed the picture of my decorated bedroom out of my head, and kissed her with all that I had. I could taste the love and frustration, the anger and the devotion, and wondered how our lips could produce that much emotion.

I blocked everything out: the dim lighting, the complications of the setting, the drama of the night; everything in order to keep my head cool and collected for the moment. I only saw her, and forced myself to concentrate on showing her how terribly I needed her.

Trying to calculate a way that this would even be plausible, I began to move us to the back wall. Without a second thought, I had thrown her shirt up and over her head, making sure that one of my hands cradled her head from the cold tile behind us.

I nearly lost it as her hands started to move to the bottom of my sweater. The room pressed in, and my breathing picked up. I felt my fingers itching to drum out their well-known pattern.

_Fuck, Edward. Keep it the hell together._

"No, Bella, from now on I'm showing you how much _I_ need _you_," I breathed into her ear. Gulping and trying to calm my heart down, I sighed at the fact that I had complete control. I could only hope that being able to dictate our actions would help me to keep a lid on the crazy basket that was my head.

All of my efforts were pushed onto her. I lost myself in her, in her strawberry shampoo and the sweat and antiseptic from the paramedics that the night had peppered her with. Her neck tasted salty sweet, and all I knew at that moment was that I needed more. Some hidden primal urge burst through me as my teeth hooked under her bra strap.

Twist left, twist right, together, and unclick.

I was only vaguely aware of the small thud her bra made as it hit the floor. I was busy being in awe. I had forgotten how completely mind-fuckingly gorgeous she was. Her nipples were hard against my chest, and I suppressed an endearing chuckle at the blush that had spread from her neck down to her breasts.

God, just... God. There were no words.

So in lieu of the extensive vocabulary that had escaped me, I took a deep breath and tugged on the zipper of her jeans. Adrenaline was pumping through me, and I swiftly removed each of her pant legs.

As my pinky swept the floor, I felt myself stiffen for a moment. Bella had become the pinnacle of my universe, but the tangible atmosphere around me was threatening to come crashing down.

Cullen, focus on Bella. Just Bella. Not the bathroom. Not the many patrons of the bar who have probably vom—fuck! Just think of Bella. _Bella_.

It became my mantra, and I concentrated my compulsive actions on the amazing person in front of me.

Left ankle. Right ankle. Left calf. Right calf. Left knee... oh, God, if her knees weren't just as sexy as her breasts. I felt my tedious actions subside and once again I was able to press my nervous emotions into a small corner of my mind.

As if being guided by instinct, I picked her up, cradling the cheeks of her firm bottom in each palm of my hands. They lay in my hands as if they had been crafted to match. I placed her precariously on the sink, keeping one had on her back to stabilize her and using the other to release myself from my pants.

We were doing this. This was actually happening. And I needed her to know, needed her to _realize..._

"Bella, I love you."

"Edwardlu-ugh."

I smiled at such a typically Bella response. God, she was adorable. My face grew serious almost at once, however, once I knew that we were about to take the plunge, so to speak.

I thought back to my room and the lubricant I had placed in the bedside table. I knew it was her first time, and I knew it wasn't going to be all roses and sunshine, but the last thing I wanted to do was cause her pain.

Damn it, the stupid guilt started to trickle out of the dam I had built around it, and I hurriedly refocused on Bella before it could break.

My fingers slid down to her clit and I thought of her and only her.

Circulate right five times, then to the left five, then four, alternate four, then three and three, and two and two, and then she was rocking against my swift motions, letting out a whimper into my ear as she placed her head on my shoulder.

I felt her start to shake in my arms, and I slid a finger across her to make sure she was as prepared as possible, given the conditions. I made sure to keep my motions going as I placed myself at her entrance with my other hand. With one slow movement I began to inch into her.

And Jesus Fucking Christ, it took all of my effort to go slow and keep my fingers moving. I was lost in ecstasy. I had never felt this with anyone else I had ever been with. She was just so warm and right and _Bella_.

Moving slowly and meticulously, my lips met hers once more as I felt her body relax from the tense stance it had taken moments before.

It was me and her, together as close as we could possibly be, and she was consuming all of me.

Needless to say, it wasn't a long session. I felt myself growing harder in her, and her panting grew ragged and irregular.

And in a flash of fingers and flesh, she was throbbing around me, breathing in deeply, and I let myself go. In a torrent of emotions and love and relief, we stayed attached for what seemed like an eternity.

Until I opened my eyes, blinking in the dull light of the bathroom, and realized what I had done.

_Dirt. Grime. _And, I'd taken her amid all the _filth_.

* * *

"Mmmm, we should probably go back down to the bar," she whispered to me, still clinging onto my neck with her delicately small fingers.

"Yes, we should," I answered back, but the voice being projected from my vocal chords was foreign to me. It was deep and cold and it scared me.

After spending thirty minutes trying to ebb the itching compulsions at the back of my head, they came storming right back, brought on from taking the one I love in a fucking public bathroom. All I could think of was the waste of all of the preparations I had thrown myself into, I knew I was losing it.

Losing it, and losing it damn fast. I felt like the world was crashing in on me, and I broke myself from her embrace, redressing myself as fast as I could and tossing her the articles of clothing strewn around the sticky, dirty floor.

Socks first, fold over once, wear them inside out so the seam doesn't press against your toes. Pant legs, first right then left. Button. Zip. Buckle. Sweater up over head, followed by right then left arm.

Don't think about bathroom germs. Dingy, public pub house germs.

My fingers strummed furiously against my pant leg pocket as I watched Bella throw her shirt up over her head. I was jogged from my ministrations by the look on her face. Her gaze bounced from my left eye to my right and back again, as if searching for the answer.

And God, I wanted to tell her, to explain... but I just... couldn't. I was on the brink of passing out, feeling as if some invisible force was constricting my breathing, slowly choking me. I just needed some sort of fucking order, and now.

Bella shouldn't have to deal with this, didn't need this, and didn't deserve this shit... _my_ shit.

I grabbed her waist, unlocking and opening the door. I left it open, knowing full well that if I shut it, I'd be shutting it three fucking times.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven steps. Each one leading me back to the front of the bar and each one turning me back into the person I'd tried to force myself from being for her sake.

"Alice, can you hold on to Bella for me? Maybe help her back home?" I asked, pressing the love of my life into arms other than mine.

I couldn't bear to look at her, knowing full well what I must be doing to her. Again. My actions were only adding to my stress, and I needed to lose myself in normalcy, in comfortable uncomfortableness. Right now, my routine was the only thing that could keep me from losing my fucking sanity.

"And Rosalie?! The usual, please."

I made my way to the bar, knowing full damn well I was making a scene. I shrunk back into my mind, hoping against all hope that Bella might understand. If only I could fucking _talk_ to her... but I could barely walk straight right now, let alone have a coherent conversation with her.

I just needed a little time to get myself together—God, please, let her _understand_.

As Rosalie shook the canister back and forth furiously, my heartbeat began to calm.

Onetwothreefour quick shakes, onetwothreefour longer shakes.

She poured the frothing drink into the glass, dropped the olives into the drink and pushed it over to me. As I grasped the end of the first protruding stick, dripping the excess back into the martini glass, all of my senses were attacked.

I felt my back grow rigid as I smelled her... God, _all_ of her. I wanted to turn around, wanted to fucking scream, to cry, to do something, _anything_. But my stupid fingers wouldn't stop moving, and as soon as it had come, her presence was gone, replaced by the cold gust of Chicago wind.

"Edward? Edward! What the hell just happened?"

The voice was both welcomed and unwanted. I had no words to reply to the sister that knew all too much about my condition. All I could give was a small shrug as I fought to finish off the drink in front of me.

"Hey, Jessica? Why don't you go ahead and do last call? Let's close up a bit early tonight."

"Erm, okay, yeah, sure, just hold on a sec," Jessica's voice answered. I couldn't look at anything but the martini, clear liquid with olives like eyes, monstrously green with red pupils, but with the clinking of glasses it seemed like she was having a tough time with something.

I couldn't look at anything but the martini, clear liquid with olives like eyes, monstrously green with red pupils. They stared at me, as if they were disappointed in me.

Fuck, even my martini thought I was a complete failure, an idiotic pig.

_Martini, I agree with you._

The haphazard clinking and ratting of glasses as Jessica shuffled around, followed by a crash, broke up my thoughts as a tumbler twirled across the top of the bar landing precariously close to the edge.

Rosalie's manicured hands clutched the tumbler before it could break, which I was wholly grateful for. I wasn't sure whether I could handle any more destruction tonight.

"Good God, just move over. I'm going to go ahead and clock in. I can't believe they let you close up this place by yourself. No, just... just give me the beer mug. That's right, just go clean up the tables or something. Last call! Last call, everyone. Get it now, or get out!"

Rosalie commandeered the bar as Alice stayed seated next to me. I didn't look at her, but nonetheless I could feel her eyes boring a hole into the side of my head.

She didn't leave my side, staring at me the entire time. I could feel myself calm down at each sip, at each pop of an olive, until I was aligning the last toothpick on the bar top. As my fingers let go, I let out a deep breath and swiveled the chair to face her.

I was expecting some sort of reprimand, a grilling filled with questions that I didn't want to answer; didn't want to even think about.

Instead, I was enveloped in the biggest hug from the smallest person I knew.

"Edward. Edward, hey, just take deep breaths. Count to three and take some deep breaths, okay?"

And the dam exploded. I grew angry at myself as tears slipped down my cheeks. Stupid fucking tears. I had cried more in the past few months than I had in the last five years.

"God, Alice, what did I do to her? Am I ever going to be fucking normal? Ever?!" I nearly choked into her shoulder.

"I don't know, no, and probably not."

I broke away from her as I was met with an understanding smile. My fingers brushed away the remaining residue on my face as she sidled into the seat next to me.

"You aren't ever going to be normal, not in the conventional way. Does it mean you're going to make some really, big, stupid mistakes? Yes. But you know, I don't think you give Bella enough credit. Are you being completely honest with her about how you're feeling?"

"I'm... trying. You know that's not easy for me. I have tried to be more upfront about most things, and I think—"

"You know Tanya and I keep in touch, too, right?"

And that's when my heart hit my stomach with a fucking Mike Tyson punch. Operation GELFEU had bombed, and I was now beginning to suspect that one of the reasons it went up in flames was its existence in the first place.

"Oh," was all that came out of my mouth.

"Yeah, so I know you've had a rough night, and I'm not going to go all Rosalie _Exorcist _on you or anything."

"Hey, I'm still in the room and pouring _your _drinks, just so you know," Rosalie's voice came pelting over from the other side of the bar, but it was lighter than normal and seemed almost playful, sarcastically and bitterly playful.

"Anyway," Alice said, winking at Rosalie and continuing. "Mapping out a plan to take your current girlfriend's virginity, assisted by your ex-girlfriend, and without talking to her about it as well, isn't exactly a recipe for success."

"Oh, God..." I trailed off, losing myself in thoughts of the many conversations I'd had with T, versus those I'd had with Bella.

"Hey!" Alice exclaimed while snapping her fingers. "Obsessing over it is not going to help you at all... and I'm not letting Bella off the hook either. What the hell was she thinking, asking you to—"

"Wait, how do you know that anything... well, you know, that we..."

Damn. Awkward. I _really_ didn't want to share my sex life with my little sister.

"Ummm, Edward, it was pretty obvious, quite honestly. The walls aren't exactly sound proof, and the look on both your faces... well, it's not that hard to put two and two together."

Alice rubbed my shoulder gently. "It's going to be okay, I think. Just… just take the time you need right now, okay?" I nodded once, taking a deep breath as her little, lithe footsteps headed away from me and back towards one of the hallways.

One, two, three, four, five… by fifteen she was too far away for me to here the click of her tiny heels on the wood floors anymore.

I spent the next thirty minutes helping Rosalie and Jessica polish off liquor bottles and clean glasses. Well, alright, so I kind of pushed them out of the way and reorganized the entire bar. I finished up the last glass and made myself one final martini before we locked up and called it a night.

My anxiety had subsided significantly, and I was left facing my fate. If I tried to make things better with Bella, would she even want to give me a chance? I contemplated what I was going to do as I sipped and chewed, but was interrupted by a tinkling of bells.

"I didn't know if the place was short of stock on them, but thought you might be needing this," a voice said from my right, placing something by my hand.

My stomach did a back flip as I turned to my side.

There she was, puffy-eyed and hair wild with the wind, looking into my eyes. She wasn't angry or sad, she was just... Bella.

I looked down at her hand, and in it was the Ziploc bag with the olive.

"Bella, look, I'm sorry about everything, I just had—"

Her face broke out into a small smile as she interrupted me.

"Hey, now you look. Alright, I'll be honest. I was pretty...well... damn angry and upset when I left, but then I saw... erm... I found this... well, crap. I know how much you're trying and it was a stupid idea for me to... ask, I guess, or make you feel like you needed to..."

As I had on the doorstep to her apartment, and as I wanted to every time she grew flustered, I cupped her chin and kissed her.

She came back. She came back and was trying to understand, trying to take in account what I attempted to mask. I had her trust, and I knew what I had to do.

"Will you please come back to my apartment? I have something I want to show you."

"Yeah, don't mind us. We'll just close down the bar by ourselves while you skip off into the sunset," Rosalie called from the other side of the room.

"Rose, Edward basically cleaned up the whole place, the least you could do is—"

"Jesus, I was just joking, Alice. Don't get your extra small panties in a bunch."

I heard Bella sigh as she grabbed the plastic bag and hopped off of the chair. My hand caught her waist, and I wasn't sure how I'd ended up with her around me after everything that had happened, wasn't sure if we could work to make everything better. All I was sure of was that I was the happiest motherfucker on the face of the earth.

As we stepped out of the bar and into the street, Bella stopped walking. I turned to face her as she tugged on my waist, pulling on me with her small hands.

"But, seriously, can we make a pinky promise? I'll start, no more dingy bathrooms?"

My finger caught hers as it wrapped around mine.

"Deal."

I wanted to make another promise that I wouldn't freak out on her like that ever again. It killed me to know that if I made it, I would be powerless in breaking it, so I settled.

"And I will never try to hurt you. Ever."

It's all I could give. I just hoped it would be enough.


	22. A Frozen Ziplock Bag BPOV

**~*~ Author's Note ~*~**

Hey, I'm giving you all a "festivas" extra chapter for the holidays... _come on _Seinfeld fans. This is from BPOV but it matches up with where EPOV ended up last time. Originally I was going to write two different chapters explaining their actions, but readers kinda freaked out so I jumped the gun in order to keep you all from having a heart attack :)

So next chapter will be from BPOV. Think of this chap as an extra.

I'll have the next one written during my four day break... because I'll be in rural Kansas without internet or cell phone usage.... yeah, I'll need something to do, besides listening to my Dad singing to the Mariah Carey Christmas album.

As always, an amazing and awesome thanks to my beta kino, who is always supportive and pulls through for me even with a crazy hectic schedule.

**~*~A Frozen Ziplock Bag~*~**

"Gah!" I exclaimed, kicking a not so graceful foot into the wall outside the bar. I was beyond confused. The only thought that consumed me was that I had lost my virginity... in a dirty-as-hell bathroom above the bar where Rosalie screamed at me on a daily basis.

_So stupid_, I thought as I leaned my back against the chilly bricks.

At the time it had seemed brilliant, as if that was the only opportunity I would ever have to get Edward to become more physical. I peeled myself from the wall and started to make my way home. As my heels hit the cold pavement below me, my stomach sank with each step.

_Plod_

I wish I would have waited.

_Smack_

Why did he leave me like that?

_Plod_

It should have been different.

_Smack_

That's my own damn fault.

I pulled the hood of my jacket up and over my head, trying to keep the wind from attacking my ears. I couldn't think in the cold weather, not a single coherent thought. Everything that came to my mind was fragmented, angry, and made no sense at all.

Though it may have been the shots of tequila still making my mind fuzzy, or the extra drink at the bar, or the concussion…

It had been a long night.

Finally, I reached the third flight of stairs in my building and sprinted to the front door. My hands shook as I tried to put the key in the lock. After too much fumbling it finally slid in, and my face warmed instantly as I stumbled into the apartment. Without bothering to turn on the lights, I made my way to the fridge. \

Godmotherfrickingshit!

Apparently keeping the lights off was yet another stupid move on my part as I ran into something hard.

Great, Alice had apparently rearranged the furniture again. She got on weird spurts where I'd come home and not even really recognize the place. She was notorious for reupholstering and repainting things within the span of a day.

Half the time I wondered whether she allowed any time for sleep, as I never caught the apartment mid-transformation. The results of her efforts were frequently hazardous to my health. This time after tripping over a dining room chair, I'd landed on my ass with a hard thump.

"Great! Just... ugh... great! Way to end an awesome night!" I screamed sarcastically to the empty apartment.

Wincing slightly, I tried to hoist myself onto my feet, holding onto the kitchen table for support. When I finally was upright, I walked the next two steps to the refrigerator and opened the freezer.

"Where are you Mister Ben and Mister Jerry? Urm... ugh... bingo!" I found the carton pressed into the far left corner. I hadn't had any use for them in the past month, but just touching the container made my anger dissipate.

"You'd never take a girl's V card then treat her as if she came down with syphilis, would you? And even if you did, at least you'd create an interesting ice cream flavor to go along with it... like Cherry Popping Delight or something... yeah."

Holy Lord, I was venting to a _dairy product_. Alright, a tasty and amazing dairy product, but an inanimate object nonetheless.

I was losing it. If Edward had sought psychiatric help at one point in time, I should consider doing the—

_Ohhhh._

That was when it donned on me. I couldn't believe it took me over an hour to put two and two together. The carton of ice cream spun in a circle across the counter as I dropped it. My breathing grew ragged as I opened the freezer once more, scraping my knuckles against the frozen goods.

My eyes began to tear, and I watched as a couple of drops landed on the bottom of the freezer. I sniffled as my eyes watered uncontrollably.

Stupid tears.

It was here. It _had_ to be here... somewhere.

I took the frozen broccoli out of the freezer, then the hamburger patties, then the Lean Cuisines, then... well... the entire contents, and placed them on the counter top.

Aha!

My fingers clutched the Ziploc bag I had been searching for, now rigid with frost from being stuck to the back of the freezer. I looked at the olive encased in it, a small memento, and a large sacrifice.

If it took all of his strength to leave this insignificant thing on the table for me, I couldn't imagine the hell I'd put him through. I mean, did I have to insist to go at it in the _bathroom_? And not just any bathroom, the _bar _bathroom? God knows I cleaned it up enough to know that it wasn't exactly the most hygienic place in the world.

My skin became peppered with goose bumps.

Ugh. Why had I pushed? Why then?

Then "horny and neglected by boyfriend" Bella spoke up.

"Because he has hardly touched you in over a month. Because you sleep over at his place almost every night and _nothing _happens. Because every time you try to take things further he pushes you away."

_Shut up horny, neglected Bella. You're making me feel self-conscious._

I put irrational Bella in time out and tried to think over everything that had happened. I knew Edward cared about me, knew he'd do just about anything for me, and knew he must have had a reason for shunning me tonight.

That was when the guilt sank in. Yeah, I was still pissed at the situation, still annoyed and hurt at the fact that my first time happened the way it did.

But I didn't exactly pick a spot that was after-sex cuddle worthy, or romantic in any way whatsoever. I realized I wasn't necessarily angry at Edward, just disappointed in the whole thing in general.

Well, maybe not the _whole_ thing. God, even during what I was now convinced had been the beginning of his mental breakdown, he still was able to do things to me, to bring feelings out in me that I had never experienced.

I felt my face grow hot and tried not to indulge myself with fantasies starring by boyfriend—or was he still? Panicking, I grabbed the baggie and flung the door open. I had some place to be, and it wasn't wallowing in self-pity alone in my apartment.

Adios Ben. Au revoir Jerry. I'm leaving you for someone sweeter, more savory and a hell of a lot more comforting than you.

* * *

The impact of what I was about to do, what I was risking, hit me like a bowling ball to the gut as I stood outside the bar door. This was the tipping point. I'd either keep him, or lose him forever_. Forever_.

The chairs were flipped up onto the tables, and I could vaguely see Rosalie washing the last of the glasses, holding them up to the light to make sure there weren't any spots. I vaguely wondered how long it had taken her to clock in and banish Jessica to the stock room.

I knew I could turn back now, try to forget that I had ever waited on Edward Cullen, toss the bag in my hand into the trash and omit the mistakes the both of us had made from my memory. Maybe that would be for the best.

Then I saw him, _all_ of him. His crumpled hair, ruined from raking his fingers through it; his pensive eyes. He wasn't looking at _me_, but I was sure he would have the same panged expression that I had fought to wash away for as long as I had known him. I both loved and hated that look.

He was sitting in the same place that he had been when I left, twirling his last few olives in his fingers. His lips embraced the rim of the martini glass, and I tried to stop myself from being jealous... of a piece of glassware.

That was when my "turn back plan" went out the damn door, giving me a thumbs up as I pushed my way past it and into the bar.

I felt my throat constrict as I pushed all of the confidence I could muster to the surface, approaching the back of the man who both infuriated me and loved me unconditionally.

"I didn't know if the place was short of stock on them, but I thought you might be needing this."

I didn't know whether I should sit in the open seat next to him, so I hovered in some weird, awkward crouching stance as I nudged the Ziploc near his open hand.

"Bella, look, I'm sorry about everything, I just had—"

I cut him off before he could begin. I _knew_ he was sorry for what had happened. I _knew_ he never wanted to leave me like that. I _knew_, deep down, that I had pushed him, pushed him mercilessly into doing something that he wasn't comfortable with.

I'd known it at the time when I had asked him to take me.

The whole situation was ironic. Here I was, having given him my virginity, and he was the one that had quite obviously felt too pressured.

"Hey, now you look," I began, tentatively taking his chin in my hand.

I wanted to see his eyes, to make sure he knew that I meant every word I was saying.

"Alright, I'll be honest. I was pretty... well... damn angry and upset when I left, but then I saw..."

Well, _saw_ wasn't the right word. I had gutted my freezer in order to find it. I lost my ability to speak coherently, as I often did around him, and tried to find the right way to say what I wanted to.

"...erm... I found this... well, crap. I know how much you're trying and it was a stupid idea for me to... ask, I guess, or make you feel like you needed to..."

Blurgh, complete word vomit. I guess it was making up for the many times I had refrained from throwing up that night. I gave up and shifted my eyes down to my lap, where my hand had dropped from his chin and had grasped the other in a tight hold.

Then his hand was on my face, cradling my cheek. I felt myself flush at the mere contact with his fingers.

"Will you please come back to my apartment? I have something I want to show you."

My mouth opened, and I tried to will an answer out of my mouth. I wasn't sure he wanted to be with me at all, after what I had asked him to do. And I wasn't sure I wanted to be with him, after how he'd left me. Before I could process the information, I was interrupted from my thoughts by a voice I would honestly pay a million dollars to never hear again.

Rosalie's diatribe, fraught with bitching about closing up the bar, assaulted my ears. Before I could give any sort of retort, Alice had chimed in.

"Rose, Edward basically cleaned up the whole place, the least you could do is—"

She was cut off by Rosalie, but I was lost in their discussion as I focused on Alice's words.

_Edward basically cleaned up the whole place_

Of course he had. I wondered how much arranging he had done, how many martinis he had needed, and I finally became aware of how much of his disorder consumed him. Sure, I humored him by putting his shoes in order, making sure to sit in specific places, eat my food a certain way, but this? This was the crux of the reason why Edward hadn't been forward with me about his condition in the first place.

And I hated that I had spurred it on. Hated that I was selfish enough not to trust him and his reasons for doing things as he did. Hated that I had let him down, as absurd as that may seem, given the circumstances.

I sighed, grabbing the bag that he'd left on the counter as I hopped off of the bar chair. I was resolved. If he wanted me to go back to his place, I would gladly go. I would go anywhere he told me to.

As his arm cradled my waist, I shivered involuntarily, pushing the bar door open as we braced ourselves against the harsh weather outside.

"But, seriously, can we make a pinky promise?" I asked, sputtering slightly as the wind whipped my hair into my mouth. I wriggled a hand free from his grasp and pushed it behind my ear. I needed to promise him that I would be more aware of his needs, be sensitive to his triggers. I just didn't want to come and say it outright.

If it sounded cheesy in my head, I was pretty sure it'd sound even more Grade A Velveeta when I said it out loud.

"I'll start, no more dingy bathrooms?"

I gasped as my pinky was encompassed by his and I felt a spark of electricity go through my body. My finger was warm, wrapped up in his, and I almost didn't catch what he said next.

"And I will never try to hurt you. Ever."

I knew that was the truth, and whatever he wanted to show me at his place would have to wait. We'd be having a talk, because I knew he didn't want to hurt me, but sometimes he ended up doing it anyway.

We needed some sort of safe word, some way that I would know that it wasn't me... that it wasn't him... that it just was the way it was.


	23. Essenem BPOV

~*~Author's Note ~*~

Most of this AN will be in reference to my parody series as I'm celebrating (mainly to myself) a year of being a part of the fanfic community and the beginnings that lead me here, so apologies to those who don't get the references.

I know it's been a little while, but between holidays and all that good stuff, I was able to crank out another chapter… and may I say (especially for those who've read my stuff since the beginning of my fanfic-dabbling) a great many a shot for those who have R&Red…

You all, I'm at 600!

Fictional shots for those under-aged *closes eyes and looks away as she gives shots to them* and non-fictional for those who have been with me through Super Bear and Aro… that are over-aged I guess, heh.

Super Bear: Fuck yeah, it's about time I get a shot. I've been stuck in the discarded characters for almost a year now… with _Aro_.

Browniechadowes: Quit your whining and just take the damn shot.

Aro: And may I give a giant crème puff to browniechadowes benevolent beta kinowashere. That girl would have her head ripped off if it weren't for her super beta. Tea cakes anyone?

~*~Essenem?~*~

Our pinkies detached, and I let out a small gasp at the cold that I suddenly felt without even the small contact. I was surprised at the warmth that his finger could produce. Shrugging against the cold, I shuddered as I finished buttoning my coat against the wind. I didn't know why I bothered, as the biting Chicago wind whipped through me, buttoned coat or no buttoned coat.

His hand caught my hip as we walked down the familiar sidewalk to his apartment, and my shuddering subsided as I felt his body against my side. His fingers laced themselves against mine, and I smiled at the slight pulsating tempo his palm sought out against me. It was the comfort I craved, the security blanket I needed.

Hell, did I need it… because the walk from the bar to his place was the most awkward thing I had ever experienced.

Edward was never one for words that didn't need to be spoken; however, we'd never had an uncomfortable silence until now. Each time my feet sounded a sharp padding noise against the concrete, I cringed slightly.

I didn't know what to say.

He surely didn't know how to start a conversation either.

So we walked, his arm against my back, me trying frivolously to come up with some kind of conversation to make the situation less awkward.

Yeah… I came up with nothing.

_Clip!_

_Hey it's pretty cold outside. _That may work… awesome, Bella, let's talk about the freaking weather.

_Clap!_

_So, Rosalie was a little bitchy tonight. _Great, Bella, way to state the obvious.

_Clip!_

_Those tequila shots, huh? They were pretty hard to swallow…_ That's what she said. Ugh, I've resorted to poking fun at my hypothetical conversation starters. That can't be good.

_Clap!_

_About that bathroom…_Somehow I feel like that wouldn't be the best thing to bring up right now.

Each time I tried to formulate some sort of lame sentence, I couldn't allow myself to actually say it out loud. I glanced briefly at Edward, and he looked as if he were deep in thought, miles and miles away from where I was.

The walk took around five minutes, but it seemed like an eternity. I never thought I would be so happy to be face-to-face with the door to Edward and Emmett's apartment. When we reached the threshold, his hand left mine as he rummaged through his pocket for his key.

The glimmer of the key caught my eye as he pressed it into the hole and pushed the door open. As the squeaking of the door hit my ear, and as the warmth of the heated apartment enveloped my face, my stomach dropped into my foot. I had never felt so damn nervous.

I shuddered at the change of temperature as I walked into the apartment I had left only hours before. Had I really eaten dinner here tonight? It seemed like a millennium ago. I felt a tug on my arms as Edward made to help me with my coat.

"Thanks," I said shakily.

That was the first word either of us had spoken in the past fifteen minutes, and it felt forced and contrived.

Why was this so hard?

"You're welcome," he answered, brushing off my coat and hanging it on the rack near the front door.

I waited, standing awkwardly by the couch, not knowing whether to sit or not as he took off his jacket and scarf.

As he placed his garments on the rack, I strode to the fridge to place the olive into the freezer. I sighed heavily as I stowed it away. I didn't want to give it back to him; I only wanted to make sure that it wouldn't spoil. Hell, it had been with me for the duration of our relationship, and I wasn't about to let it go. When it was in place, I made my way back to the living room and tried to start a conversation that I knew needed to happen.

"Look," I said abruptly as he shuffled his feet against the floor, "I know this is… well, damn…" I trailed off, clutching my hair in my hand.

"This is crazy… crazy awkward," I continued, drawing in a breath. "I mean, before you show me… whatever… I think we should maybe talk about what happened tonight."

I waited with baited breath as he looked down at his hands that were laced together, then back up to me. I shivered as, with one step, he placed his arm around my waist and maneuvered me to a sitting position on the loveseat.

I felt his fingers patter against my hip as he breathed in deeply, eventually looking my way.

"Bella, you can't experience what happened to me, what I was feeling at the time, but I will try to explain. It was as if the bar had filled up with water and I was drowning. Like everyone else having air tanks and goggles, and being able to be aware of their surroundings, as I just flailed around lost. That's the closest I can come to describing it. The catalysts were the dirty bathroom, and the spontaneity, and you, and Emmett and Rosalie, and the dinner, and…"

His eyes had grown wild with his explanation, and I noticed that my fingers had clutched around his as his words hit me like a ton of bricks. It had been one thing when I found the olive, but hearing the desperation in his voice made my heart break all over again.

"See, looking back on it, I knew it was something like that. I pushed too hard, too far. But you've gotta start telling me when something's bothering you. Maybe just blurt out a word… or give a signal or something so I can remind myself what you're dealing with."

He nodded his head in agreement slightly as I continued.

"Because, Edward, I see _you_. The man I love for everything he is; intelligent, sarcastic, caring… and it doesn't hurt that you're easy on the eyes," I chuckled as he raised an eyebrow up at me.

"But that's all I see. I don't look at you and think, 'well, there's my OCD boyfriend'. I don't think I will _ever_ see that, and that's why I need you to remind me from time to time."

"Bella," he whispered, cradling my face in his hand and pressing his lips to mine, "you realize that you are pretty fucking amazing?"

Gah. I could feel the stupid blush creeping up on my cheeks. I felt anything _but _amazing at the way I had acted, and at the way the night had gone. Instead of responding, I compromised by shaking my head and snorting slightly.

Have I said how sexy and awesome my seduction skills are? Yeah…

"So," he said, his voice lightening slightly, "a sort of safe word, huh? Isn't this a little S & M for you?"

"Essenem?" I repeated back in question. At first I was reminded of Slim Shady, but was pretty sure that wasn't what he was referencing. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to know this person he was referring to, and I wracked my brain to try to remember if I'd met anyone by the name.

"You know, the whole sadist-slash-masochistic thing?" He asked as he probably could see the confusion in my expression.

My eyes blinked a few times. Oh… well that phrase was familiar to me, but no, I most definitely was not interested in that, nor did I really want to be. At my silence he continued.

"Just joking. Erm, maybe I could just say olives, or if I can't talk maybe I could pretend like I'm stirring my drink… would that work? Maybe as a fitting gesture?"

"I think so," I said in trepidation, hoping that those signs would be enough.

"Alright," he said decidedly, dropping my hand and rubbing his together. "So, now it's time. Are you ready to see what I have to show you?"

"Sure," I replied, wondering what the hell he wanted to show me that was so important it made his eyes light up like that; so important that he would insist on me following him and seeing his 'surprise'.

My heart thudded against my ribcage as he led me into his bedroom. I had been in there so many times before, but after we had done what we did in the bathroom at the bar, it seemed ever-so-less… innocent.

Urgh… I let out a gasp.

The whoosh of air left my lips as my eyes adjusted to the dim light. His room was bathed in rose petals, his counters lined with tall, sleek candles; a bottle of unopened champagne balanced carefully on top of his dresser in a bucket of water, which I assumed had been ice hours before.

I wished at that moment that I had a dagger, just as Juliet had. I would run myself through with it at my own guilt, because by the estimation of the amount of melted ice, and the way the scent of roses hung heavily in the room as if they'd been out for hours, I was pretty sure everything had been set up since before dinner.

_He was planning on _having_ me. Here. Tonight. And I effed everything up… _royally_._

"Come here," he murmured into my ear, a cold finger swiping against the crevice under my right eye.

Apparently I had been crying and hadn't even noticed it. The overwhelming feelings of guilt and love consumed me, and I knew then and there that if we could get through this night, we could get through anything.

"This is for you, Bella. What you deserve, what you mean to me," he continued in a husky voice, kissing at the side of my neck under my ear.

"Mmmmgrrrfunkle."

That's probably the most coherent word I could make come out of my mouth at his touch. I let him lead me, a couple of small steps until my legs gave out and I found myself leaning back on his soft comforter.

"This," he said, pressing my hips onto his bed, "is what tonight will be. Forget everything before, _this_ is what we are."

I wanted to protest, tell him how utterly guilty I felt of this romantic setting, of anything right then. But his eyes held a plea, a request combined with his words to start the evening over, to follow his plan and give us a better memory of our first night together, as partners.

And as much as I felt I had royally messed everything up, and as much as I knew our first time… my first time… hadn't gone as planned, I knew I needed to give him this, just as he had given me what I had insisted on in the bar.

I felt his torso press against mine as he let his weight rest against my body. As his fingers gingerly brushed against my top, bringing it up to my neck, I raised my arms over my head. I wanted to be as close as I could to him, and as he discarded my shirt my fingers pulled on his.

My bra was gone in a flash, and I shuddered at the contact between our chests. I needed more of him—I needed _all _of him. I was in a surreal world as the rest of our clothing disappeared and he began stroking his… well, ya know… his _head_ against my opening.

"Bella, I love you. I have loved you since the moment I saw you. You are mine, _mine_," he muttered almost carnally, pressing furtively into me.

I felt the goose bumps erupt on the back of my neck as I listened to his declaration, feeling his breath on my ear. Before I knew what was happening, he'd buried himself completely in me, his body stating his physical claim just as surely as his words had.

Was I still sore? Hell to the friggin' yeah. But being full with him made the pain subside faster than the first time, and all I wanted was _more_.

My fingers involuntarily cupped his ass, pressing him further into me, and I looked up briefly into his face to see if he was okay. His lips were pursed, his brow wrinkled, his biceps clenched—but I knew he wasn't panicked, he was…enraptured. Knowing that I did that to him made me all the more excited.

He started up a slow pace, moving into me as I felt for the first time the sheer beauty of being connected to him, sans dirty bathroom, painful virginity, and OCD freak-out.

I felt his hand pressing against the middle of my lower torso, and let out a shudder at a part of me that had never been touched. Good holy lord, the part of him that was creating friction against me was something that I had never felt. I could _feel_ his hand on the outside of me stroking his dick inside me, and I came undone.

Fuckgodfuckholytittyshit… It was over in about three seconds. I felt like a pubescent boy having his first wet dream. I couldn't control myself. At. All.

My body was quaking as he increased his pace. As I was coming down from my own high, I felt him twitch inside me as he collapsed on top of me.

We breathed in unison, our lungs expanding and retracting together, and he placed his sweating forehead against mine, bringing his lips to my lips.

"Love… you," he said, eyes closed and panting.

"Love you, too," I replied, reveling in the fact that we were still connected, still together, still belonging to each other. "And be it a gross bar bathroom or a candlelit bedroom, I'll… I'll always feel that way," I sputtered out post-ecstasy.

I knew it to be true. His strong, lanky arms wrapped around me, his naked body contouring to my back, and I began to drift off. After tonight, I knew that no matter what came between us, be it my own self-doubt or his personal hang-ups, we would be together.


	24. HIATUS 1

**~*~ Author's Note ~*~**

Alright guys, I have to put Breaking Edward on a slight hiatus. I'm taking three writing courses, one lit. course, a psych class and a physics class. Case in point, 18 hours, and a lot of writing that takes away from my fanfic writing time. I'll be updating with stories I've written for my classes, and I'll TRY to write a new chap for BE when I can.

I'm sorry if you guys are pissed, or if you don't want to read the other short stories I've been assigned, but I hope that something's better than nothing. (I've re-formatted my story to be easier to read via internet- I.e. more paragraphs for you all to ease your corneas then what I turned in)

If not, feel free to ignore my updates at least until Spring Break (at which time I can guarantee an update to the actual story).

Cheers and sorry that I actually have to take a small hiatus :( Obviously I love everyone's devotion, support, and reviews.

Hah, oh, and I own everything that follows…

HERE IS THE CONTEXT:

The general premise is the last night of John Dillinger's (public enemy number 1 and 1930s ganster) life. I haven't seen Public Enemies (y?) as I picked out my paper topic before the movie came out and was advised by my professor not to taint my story by seeing it. I try to keep with historical facts, but the protagonist is the creation of my own crazy mind.

**The Lady in Red **

The flesh on her outer thigh prickled as the contact of the cool metal slid across her skin. With a flick of her forefinger, she secured the Walther P38 against her leg with the aid of a garter. She slid the nude slip over her pale body to cover the small bulge on her right side as she examined herself in the upright mirror.

Ana looked like a woman in her mid-twenties, and in the line of business that she entertained she was thankful that her Romanian genes had at least provided her a leg up with _something_. Being a middle-aged brothel owner was commonplace in Chicago, and Ana's youthful appearance gave her the patronage that the other late night club matrons envied.

"The overcoat will hide that," she muttered to her reflection in a deep, Hungarian accent as she turned sideways, measuring the depth of the gun cloaked in faux silk.

She was accustomed to carrying a hand gun on her person. In her line of business, constant protection was a learned necessity. However, tonight's need of the pistol seemed different to her, foreign and burdening.

She was aware that what she was about to do required protection. As she plucked the pins from her hair, letting her curled brunette locks free to brush against her shoulders, she realized that tonight she would assume the role of God.

A man's life was in her hands, and she had been appointed by the Federal Bureau of Investigation and the Chicago Police Department to act the part of Saint Peter: put a death sentence on a flawed man's head and expedite him to hell, or have that man survive on earth in the paradise he had built for himself.

She rifled through her closet, looking for the dress that she had picked out for the occasion. The cocktail dress shone deep orange in the dim light of her cramped apartment. It clashed brilliantly against the mundane surroundings, from the beige flowered wallpaper that had begun to curl and peel against the plaster underneath its glue to the worn pine wood flooring at her bare feet.

She shimmied into the dress, tucking in the slip and making sure that her Walther remained snug against her leg. Her fingers trembled slightly as she placed her hands behind her back to zip up the ensemble.

"Picsaba!" she exclaimed in her mother tongue as the teeth of the clasp, unsteady in her grasp, pinched the skin of her upper back.

She forced her lungs to calm, ceasing the rapid percussion they had been beating against her ribcage. With one final zip, the dress was on. She re-assessed herself in the upright as she grabbed for her knee-length suede overcoat.

Her nose caught the strong scent of the jacket, cigar smoke and whiskey masking its original smell of leather, as she slid her arms into the holes. She tied the belt around her waist while simultaneously slipping into her black pointed heels. Her thin fingers hooked around her set of keys as she made her way out of the small apartment.

The frigid Chicago wind whipped across Ana's face as her shoes hit the paved street. At each clip of her heel on the cold ground, she thought back through the past few months. She had worked diligently to become familiar with Jimmy Lawrence, an alias Dillinger had concocted as he escaped authorities in Minnesota.

She felt as if she knew him the second he stepped across the threshold of her brothel, flanked by a handful of men ranging in size and age. He wore a grin that made the jaded girls in the speakeasy weak at the knees. Ana herself knew she was shaking hands with a picture star before she had placed his face with a name.

"Well, aren't you just a doll!" he exclaimed to her in a scratchy, booming voice as he shook off the rain from his pea coat and handing it to her.

She remembered the feel of the heavy, sodden coat in her hands, and she took caution to keep it above the beer stained floors so as not to sully it. Once it was placed securely on the rack, she twirled around to give her usual welcome to the new patrons, showing them into the front parlor strewn with red velvet couches and small, dainty coffee tables. An old phonograph stood in the corner, propped precariously against the wet bar's end that met the wall as Rosemary Clooney's voice belted out a jazz ballad.

"A _Russian_ doll," he said after hearing her accent. He interrupted her rehearsed introduction as he slid into the nearest arm chair, "We'll get along just swell."

Ana did not have the heart to tell him that she was of Hungarian descent. The way he winked his left eye casually, and the way his lips formed his signature lop-sided smile was enough for her to take notice of his face. She was intrigued by each feature, every contour.

He seemed familiar in some way, although she could not put her finger on where she had met him before. But as he turned his profile to her, she swallowed down a gasp as the black and white photos that were pasted to the outsides of the downtown shop walls swam to the forefront of her mind. _John Dillinger: Wanted for burglary, fraud, and murder_.

She tried to mask the curiosity on her face as she poured him a glass of her top-shelf brandy. A blonde girl who had been leaning lazily against the bar's edge got up at Ana's insistence and reached for a pot of hot water. She sat the pot in the middle of the coffee table. Her fingers stayed on the handle as she lingered, making direct eye contact with a few of the men as her light tresses tickled the top of the table.

Ana shoed the girl away with her right hand, which was clutching one of the glasses of brandy. As the young woman scurried off, Ana stooped down the twirl the broad glass bottoms against the lip of the pot, warming the amber liquid. She sidled herself beside Dillinger and his entourage in the low-lit lounge. The night consisted of laughter, booze, and promiscuity; a stereotypical shift at work for Ana, if it were not for the infamous company she was keeping.

The next day she had gone to the authorities, knowing that his head held a high reward. The Chicago P.D. immediately alerted the F.B.I, and before she could comprehend the severity of her actions, she was being offered United States citizenship on a silver platter. All she had to do was divulge Dillinger's location.

She told the authorities that she was not sure of his exact placement, that she would need time to set him up. At that moment, she wondered why she had stalled. She knew that he was in her brothel at that very moment, shimmying up to the young, rebellious girl that had fluttered around Dillinger and his men the night before, Polly Hamilton.

However, when the detectives asked her of his whereabouts, his smile flashed in her mind. She could see the playful glimmer of his eyes as if he were in front of her, and she realized that she needed, she… _wanted_… more time.

A taxi driver honked his horn at Ana, and she realized that she had been so immersed in thought that she had drifted away from the concrete sidewalk and into the road. She squinted her eyes against the glare of the headlights and stepped back onto the curb.

Her hands rested in her coat pockets, balled up into fists. She felt her fingernails cut into her palms and tried to open them. The anxiety that she was feeling coursed through her whole body, from her stiff neck to the tension in her calves. She let out her breath as she reached the worn, green door of the club.

"Okay," she mumbled to herself in her native tongue, "You can do this, you _need_ to do this. John Dillinger isn't an innocent man. He's killed people. He deserves what's coming to him."

The words sounded hollow and unconvincing; for as true as Ana's words were, it was also true that she herself was not innocent at all. She did not feel as if she had the authority to judge anyone. As she tried to bolster her confidence, she wrapped her fingers around the wrought iron door handle and pulled.

With one last look back at the unassuming street fronts, she stepped across the threshold into the foyer. When the heat of the room hit her face, she shivered involuntarily. Reality sank into her skin along with the warmth, and she was shocked at how a gesture as small as entering a building could cement a man's fate.

"Shirley, how is everything tonight? Any problems?" Ana asked a woman with wavy, chin-length hair who lay cross-legged in a patterned chez lounge.

"All's swell," Shirley said, swilling a deep-beveled glass of Chianti around lazily as she picked up a lit, rolled cigarette from the ashtray. She took a deep puff through her wine stained lips before continuing.

"A couple crumbs, but that's a normal night. Jimmie's in back with a few

faces and their molls, and Polly's palling around with the lot of them. Nothing new, right? Jimmie was asking about ya. Said you, him and Polly were going to a picture show."

Ana had taken a while to grow accustomed to the Chicago slang when she first immigrated to the United States. Her ex-husband helped to introduce her to new words, and as she moved her way through social circles, the unfamiliar phrases became easier for her to decipher, though it took her more time than it would have if the person were speaking Hungarian.

"Yes, we are going to see Manhattan Melodrama," Ana replied, hoping that her voice sounded calm.

"Ah, that Clark Gable. He's something, isn't he? Wish more smooth men like that would come through here," Shirley said in a wistful voice as she snubbed out her cigarette.

"We have decent clientele, I think," Ana said in a harsh voice that surprised herself.

"Of course," Shirley agreed hastily. She was taken aback by Ana's tone and tried to amend her judgment of her employer's establishment.

"Keep watch on the front door. I am going to join the others in the lounge," Ana said, not being able to get rid of the agitation in her voice. Before Shirley could reply, Ana strode past her as she made her way to the bar in the back.

Her heart thudded in time with her heels as she pushed open the heavy curtains of the room. She became speechless as she spotted Dillinger, even though the scene in the room was nothing unexpected.

The parlor spun around her in a dizzy haze of smoke and noise. The only object she was able to concentrate on was his face. She marveled at the way his mustache, meticulously cut straight, tickled the top of his lip. Her gaze then dropped to his signature dimpled chin, manly and dotted with stubble. With all of her strength, she willed herself to look up into his sharp, jovial eyes.

"Hey, it's my favorite doll! Grab a seat, sweetheart. The gin's pourin' and Big Bill Broonzy's crooning on the 'graph," Dillinger boomed, winking his left eye as he motioned for a few of his men to make room on the couch for Ana.

Ana felt her heart sink into the heel of her foot. There it lay, propped up by the pointed heel of her left shoe. She had a fleeting inclination to reach down, take the pump off and fling it away. Instead, she concentrated on maintaining an air of normalcy in her demeanor that had been missing since she left her apartment. With great effort, she forced her lips to bare her teeth as she plastered on a smile that she hoped would be received as genuine.

"You should not let Polly hear that. I do not think she would be liking me too much, and she brings in too much business for me to see her leave."

"Ah, Polly, ya hear that?!" Dillinger yelled over his shoulder into the adjoining room reserved for the madams.

"Hear what, Jimmy? I'm tryin' to get ready over here. You were the one that wanted to go to the damn picture show," a tin-pitched, annoyed voice answered back.

Instead of replying back, he merely shook his head and smiled.

"That Polly. She's a firecracker. Now, what I really wanna know is how come my little Russian doll is still standing when she should be knocking down a few spirits with me."

As his attention returned to her, she realized that she had not moved from the front of the room since she had entered. She could feel the blush begin to creep up her neck and into her cheeks as she hastily made to control herself. With another deep breath, she willed herself to speak so that she could rectify the situation. She was growing paranoid, and knew she was not acting as she normally would.

"I look better from this angle, I think," she said, trying to recover from her mistake as she forced herself to sit down on the couch.

"You look swell at any angle, baby, you know that," Dillinger replied, reaching across the table to the bottle of gin.

As he was refreshing his drink, Polly emerged from the adjoining room. Ana could tell she had taken a fair amount of time dressing herself for the night. She was wearing a mid-length black gown that was strewn with delicate, dangling black tassels.

After each step she took, the dress seemed to shake with approval at her movements. Her girlish face smiled impishly at Dillinger as she sashayed across the room. Ana was hit with a wave of jealousy. She knew that she had developed a crush on the mobster, but as Polly and his relationship progressed past a business level she had tried to keep her emotions in check.

"Polly, why don't ya grab a glass for your sweet self and Ana here? We can get a few more drinks in before the show."

"You tryin' to get me drunk, Jimmy?" She inquired in a playful voice, moving over to the bar and pulling out a few tumblers.

"Guilty as charged," he said, jabbing one of his men in the ribs with his elbow as the crowd laughed whole-heartedly at his pun.

The only person who was unable to join in the humor was Ana. At his words, her skin began to crawl and her face grew cold. She could feel the sweat accumulating at the back of her neck. For a second, the room began to grow dark around her, and she could feel herself begin to faint.

This man could die tonight because of her own greed, and the guilt of it plagued her conscience before she had even acted. In order to settle her stomach, she reached greedily for the glass that Polly sat down in front of her. She thrust the liquid down her throat, wincing slightly as the ice cubes clinked against her teeth.

"Easy there, doll, you actually _wanna_ remember seeing the show," Dillinger said as he watched Ana finish the glass.

"Just thirsty," she replied as her hand shakily grasped the neck of the bottle of gin.

"Me too!" exclaimed Polly as she sat precariously on the edge of the sofa so as to be near to Dillinger.

The next hour drained away, as did the gin in front of the group. When the bottle was dry, Ana looked up at the clock. She had hoped that the influences of the alcohol would calm her down enough to untie the pit of anxiety in her stomach. Her effort was fruitless, because as she, Dillinger, and Polly waved goodbye to Shirley, who had not moved from her previous state, she felt worse than she had when she entered hours earlier.

Dillinger shut the green door behind the trio, and the sound echoed in the abandoned street. Ana jumped, nearly tripping over her own feet as the resonance of the slamming door battered against her ear drums, tapering off into the night. The only way she was able to make her way to the Biograph Theater was to look down.

She counted her steps, watching as the points of her shoes clipped against the concrete. To her relief, Polly kept Dillinger occupied, tittering about one thing or another in her drunken state. Ana neither cared about their conversation, nor could allow herself to escape from her concentrated state of mind. She knew that one more crack in her exterior would lead to a breakdown.

The Biograph glowed brilliantly against the darkness of Lincoln Street. Ana supposed that people would find it majestic and impressive with its newly placed billboard and its high grossing films. On the contrary, she saw it an ominous and foreboding body.

As she had felt when she entered her club, she realized that this was yet another pivotal step towards sealing Dillinger's fate. The three of them stepped up to the ticket counter, Ana trailing behind the couple. A ticket was shoved into her hand and she was ushered into the movie theater.

The next hour and a half passed rapidly. Ana had retreated to a dream-like state of mind as she sat next to Dillinger, who was seated in the middle of the two women. Polly, who had been rather loud during their walk to the theater, grew docile as the picture commenced. Ana tried to will herself to become engrossed in the film, but she was unsuccessful.

She could hear each breath Dillinger took, could feel each chuckle shake her armrest. He was alive and smiling… smiling at _her_.

Near the end of the movie, she pivoted in her seat to look behind her. Two men in official Chicago P.D. uniforms sat two rows behind them, exactly where they had informed her that they would be. Ana quietly gasped as she made eye contact with one of the men as he nodded his head in her direction. As the scene in the movie changed, the projector shined a dim light on the crowd.

Her dress, dark orange in natural light, blazed bright red with the aid of the big screen. The reflected crimson glow bounced off of her, and she looked to her right as Dillinger chuckled at the dialogue in the movie. His face was drenched in dark red, tinted by the color reflected off of her. She stared at him, transfixed by his grotesque pallor.

"Hey, look, Jim, if I can't live the way I want, then at least let me die the way I want," Clark Gable stated bluntly, larger than life on the silver screen.

The scripted words jarred her and she turned her attention back to the picture. As the movie ended, the crowd grew restless and began to gather their things. Ana took her time putting her jacket on. After the many points that she could have turned around over the course of the night, this was the last one. She knew that once they headed out of the theater, Dillinger would be confronted by the police.

For a brief second, she had every inclination to turn around, to usher him into the hallway and confess what she had been asked to do. Then the thought of her citizenship, of the cash reward, floated into her mind. Her life would be changed. She would be able achieve what she had come to the United States to accomplish. She could live a life uninhibited by rent, by immigration authority, or by occupation.

"Are you ready? We should go and get back to the club before Shirley gets into one of her moods," she said rather forcefully, her words setting her decision in stone.

"'Course. We probably need to get this lil one home anyway," Dillinger replied as he gestured to Dolly, who was wrapped around his waste and stumbling over her delicate, silver heels.

The three made their way through the crowd, Dillinger and Polly wading through the movie goers with Ana trailing behind them. The brisk wind slapped across Ana's face as the group emerged into the night air. She strode determinedly, cutting in front of the couple and leading them to the right of the cinema.

As they turned to walk parallel to the side of the building, Ana lost her footing. She spotted the silhouette of one of the officers at the end of the movie theater's side. Her entire body shook, and she could feel her curls bounce against her cheeks. Dillinger laughed behind her, entertained by something that Polly said. His voice rang out across the nearly abandoned alleyway, enveloping her in agonizing confliction.

"You there! Stop where you are and show me your hands!" the policeman exclaimed, stepping into the middle of the street while simultaneously raising a revolver.

The natural reaction of John Dillinger when confronted with arrest was to escape, and Ana watched in horror as he flung Polly to the ground and began running in the opposite direction.

Polly cried out in pain from the cold, wet ground as she grabbed for her twisted ankle.

The two men's shoes clopped noisily against the slick concrete, a furious and resounding percussion. A set of smaller, clipping noises joined in the beat as Ana followed the men.

The chase lasted only moments as they met a dead end half of a block down the alley way. Dillinger twisted around to face the policeman, who still wielded his firearm in his right hand. Dillinger's dark trench coat whirred through the air, creating a muffled scream of friction between wind and cloth.

While still running to catch up to the men, Ana hiked up her skirt and grabbed for her pistol. She knew that resisting arrest gave the officer every right to fatally shoot Dillinger, and she came to the realization that her guilt, which had crippled her throughout the night, would be ten fold if she stood aside and allowed this man to be gunned down. She was _not _God, she was _not _Saint Peter, and she _would not _let this man die for her own personal gain.

Her fingers pulled the garter away from her leg and she felt the handle slide into the palm of her hand. With one eye clutched shut, she stopped sprinting and aimed the hand gun at the back of the officer's head. As her finger squeezed the trigger, she locked eyes with Dillinger. His eyes were defiant and confident, and they blazed with a fire she had never seen in them before.

A deafening pop cut through the night as John Dillinger, public enemy number one, stumbled and fell in a crumpled heap at the bottom of the wall. He rested there, like a marionette with cut strings, as a pool of blood ringed his wasted body.

Ana knew that her revolver had not recoiled, and that her aim was good enough to hit a target so close to her. She pressed the trigger once, twice, three times, only to hear a crisp, little click of the empty cylinders rotating.

She had forgotten to load the gun.

* * *

If me not continuing the story promptly, but posting other stories, bothers people then I will stop what I'm doing. I just figured this was the best way to give at least something to all of my devoted and awesome readers :)


	25. HIATUS 2Spring Break

~*~ Author's Note~*~

Alright, this is the second story in my fiction writing class. But… It's spring break, bitches, so I promise I'll have a BE update before the week is through. Erin go brah!

**Two Stones**

The spidery lines of ink encompassed Betty's flesh as she rested the ballpoint pen on the side of her right ring finger. She stared at the blank page in front of her and moved the pen from her upper knuckle to the middle of the notebook. The paper buckled under the pressure she was applying, the color bleeding into the page.

She felt sympathy for the parchment, for her recent engagement weighed on her as much as the point of the pen, so heavy that she thought she would break. She watched as the ink winded a path through the miniscule wrinkles in her knuckle. Her wrist rotated clockwise, creating a large black sphere on the sheet in front of her.

She braced herself as the old desk wobbled beneath her. It must have been purchased before the Second World War, and she was disgruntled that almost five years had gone by without her high school providing new ones. Then again, the war had been difficult on the community's

economy. She had been only ten years old at the time, but she remembered vividly how farm labor had suffered when the local boys were shipped overseas.

Though her family was not a part of the agricultural community, they were affected by the war as well. She thought back to the lacquered, polished sheen of her big brother's ebony coffin, covered by a crisp spangled banner.

Her eyes smarted with the recollection, and the dark hole grew larger with each passing circle, skewing the guest list she had been working on. As the circumference expanded, covering up Suzie and James Nichols' names, she sighed becoming enthralled in the simplicity of her actions.

"Betty," a stern voice called out from the front of the room. She was vaguely aware that Mrs. Barrett was speaking, but as much as she tried, she could not pull her attention from the darkness.

"Betty?" the teacher asked, raising her voice an octave.

Betty's eyes snapped up from her desk as she focused on the blackboard in front of her. She squinted from the back of the classroom as she vaguely made out the looped, timid handwriting of her teacher. Her heart raced as she scrambled to remember the topic of the lesson.

Home economics did not come naturally to her, and she laced her fingers through her curled, ginger hair in agitation. Forty excruciating minutes later, after guessing four answers incorrectly before Mrs. Barrett ambled on to another student, she placed her textbook back in her bag slowly.

The other girls exited hastily, leaving Betty and her teacher alone on opposite ends of the room. Mrs. Barrett looked at her questioningly while tapping a pack of ultra long Kools against her palm before turning away, opening the door to the hall. Betty hastily shut the heavy, wooden door and leaned back against the wood.

The hard surface felt soothing, and she was relieved in her deduction that, owing to the rectangular box clutched in the teacher's palm, Mrs. Barrett would be spending the lunch period chain smoking in the employee lounge.

Betty checked the plain-faced clock ticking on the wall and counted down the limited time she had to herself. Jack and their mutual friends would all be driving to the new diner by now, and would not be back on campus for at least thirty minutes.

For a moment, her stomach clenched as she wondered if he would come looking for her. Her discomfort subsided when she reminded herself that he had been more distant with her after his proposal. She assumed their disconnection was due to her heightened propensity to become irritated with him.

Their differing temperament was the catalyst for her lack of patience. Whereas her head swarmed with overwhelming ideas and frustrations, she could see that Jack hardly worried about anything at all.

He was a person of action, not of thought. She had witnessed this trait personally when he relentlessly attempted to capture her interest two years before. After a few gutsy stunts, one in which he had successfully bribed the toothless, old janitor to fix the outside bulletin board to read "Betty McDaugh, Don't Shoot Me Down!", she gave in.

She had not realized at the time that she agreed to go out with him for the sole reason of making his embarrassing gestures cease. Each time he had implemented another outlandish idea to catch her interest, she would force herself to walk through the hallways, red-faced, as she shrugged off the cooing girls and the wolf-whistling boys.

She had not found the bulletin flattering; on the contrary, all she could concentrate on was the fact that her last name did not even rhyme with "down".

"Stop it," Betty said to herself under her breath, addressing her reflection in the window in front

of her as she pushed off the door and began to circle around the classroom. The walls spun around her, the precise hue of robin egg's blue that her mother, her aunts, and all of Jack's collective female relatives had agreed on as her primary wedding color.

She knew that Jack irritated her more than he pleased her, but she felt twinges of guilt each time she caught herself thinking of him in a negative light. She _should_ be grateful. Any other girl in her class would give her left ring finger to have what she had obtained; a good looking, All American boy with ambition who was committed to her.

Only two other girls in the small farming town were engaged, and both of them were exemplary pupils in Mrs. Barrett's class; in essence, they were ready-made wives. Contrarily, Betty was a struggling banker's daughter who had two left feet, flaming red hair, and a propensity to spurt out obscure facts mid-conversation.

When she had entered the high school the day after Jack proposed, Betty was not surprised to be confronted with intense envy permeating from the glares of her fellow female classmates. She understood the frustration they felt, how much they wanted what she had. She had experienced the same jealousy when she learned that a girl in the class below her had been accepted to Brown. Her own application lay limp and blank on her night stand.

"Stop. It," she muttered again. She ceased her circling and came to face the blackboard that was peppered with phrases and rules taken from their textbook, Fascinating Womanhood. Her eyes scanned the last point on the board, and her heart pounded as she mouthed the words written in Mrs. Barrett's orderly handwriting.

"Don't greet him with problems or complaints. Don't complain if he is late for dinner. Have a

cool or warm drink ready for him. Arrange his pillow and offer to take off his shoes. Speak in a low, soft, soothing and pleasant voice."

Before she could register what her hand was doing, she grabbed the rag from the chalkboard.

With all of the strength her gangly arm muscles allowed, she passed the stiff, damp cloth back and forth across the granite surface.

The soft, white words disappeared after a minute of rigorous scrubbing. Betty coughed from the chalk dust uprooted by her actions and blew out from her nose in order to dislodge the irritant. She took several steps back and looked at the empty black wall in front of her.

Without thinking, she pressed the side of her face to the cool, wet surface. Her imagination overcame her, and she envisioned herself apron-clad and kneeling at Jack's feet, tenderly pulling off his shoe with one hand while pouring him a drink with another.

She felt the bile encase her esophagus and gulped against the irritating sensation in her throat. A torrent of tears fell from her eyes, trickling between the crack of her flesh and the wall. They crept down her small, pointed nose as they pooled into the cupid's bow of to her upper lip.

They dropped into her mouth, tasting of salt, chalk, and soap. As the hot tears mingled with the cold water from the rag, Betty pressed herself harder into the chalkboard. She opened her eyes, staring into the blackness, and willed it to consume her.

When the sharp bell signaled the end of lunch, she pulled her cheek away with sickening suction and tried to smooth her hair, straightening the yellow headband that had crept back to the crown of her head.

The saliva had pooled in her mouth, and she walked to the teacher's desk hurriedly, spitting the chalky residue into the trash bin. She rubbed the crevices under her eyes as she worked to make the swelling less noticeable. Turning to pick up her bag, she caught her reflection in the window once more.

She somewhat expected her cheeks to be black from the board, and she was surprised to find herself disappointed that she still had untouched, pale cheeks. Her trembling hand slid up to her face, and she noticed the dark ink spot that marred her white, freckled finger. She sighed as she shook her head, picked up the bag, and pushed through the door into the hallway.

She had barely stepped out of the classroom when a pair of large, callused hands covered her eyes from behind her back. The smell of mild bar soap and salt tangled with the sharp scent of cheap aftershave tingled her nostrils. She scrunched up her nose as she tried to stop herself from sneezing.

"Hey, Betty Boop. Guess who?"

"Jack, I know it's you," she said, trying to sift the annoyance from her voice as she batted his fingers away from her face.

"Honey, show Eddie here your finger. He hasn't got a chance to see it yet," Jack said jovially as he clapped a gangly boy with hair stiff from copious amounts of Dippity Doo on the shoulder.

For a moment, Betty tried to conceal her stained right hand until she realized that Jack was referring to her engagement ring. The setting caught on her canary yellow cardigan, and she struggled to detangle it.

Jack chuckled at her efforts, shaking his blonde head in amusement, as she pulled a string from her shirt in order to free it. She timidly pulled her hand up in front of Eddie, flipping the diamond face-up with her thumb. The ring was a size too large for her thin finger, but she had not mentioned this to Jack.

"Jack-ie-boy," Eddie said exaggeratedly, whistling after his exclamation. "How much did this rock set ya back? Going to have to work for ol' man Granger the rest of your life?"

"Nope. Saved my money up a week after Betty decided to down-turn her nose and give me the time of day," he said, winking at Betty. "It's a beaut', isn't it?"

"A real dandy. Well, if anyone deserves it, it's li'l Betty here, that's for sure."

Betty faltered at Eddie's statement. The word "deserves" hit a nerve, and she tried to reign in the thoughts buzzing furiously in her head. The ring meant nothing to her. She did not care about the carat of the stone, the gold content, or the setting.

To be deserving of something that slipped around her hand all day, cutting into her palm as a constant reminder of where her life would lead her, was too cumbersome for her to think about. She attempted to sate her raised pulse by changing the subject.

"We should get to class. You know, variables… equations," she muttered, fumbling at the loose threads in her sweater. "There's a test next week, and we don't want to be written up for being late for the review."

"That's my Betty. Always keepin' me on my toes," Jack said as he smiled and took his hand off Eddie's shoulder, reaching towards Betty to scrunch up her hair.

She fought the urge to swat his hand away, instead opting to focus on the small hole in the side of her shirt that she was exacerbating. She fiddled with the fibers as they walked down the linoleum hallway. Jack placed his arm around her waist as their sneakers squeaked against the floor's surface.

His bicep pressed against her back, and her skin crawled as his work-worn fingertips tapped absentmindedly against her hip. She shrugged out of his embrace as they reached the classroom, accidentally bumping into his broad shoulder as she opened the door before he had the chance to usher her across the threshold.

Two hours and three classes later, Betty strode out of the high school. Her face was enveloped in the warmth from the mellow March sunlight, and she shielded her eyes from the intensity of the light. She slowly edged the red Schwinn from the bike racks in front of the school.

Her mother had tried to throw the bicycle away after the first anniversary of her brother's death, but Betty had persuaded her to keep it. She had no practical use for her brother's old bike at the time, since she had been too small to ride it , but with a fraction of hope she had rationalized that he would come back if it was at their home waiting for him.

She stood on the edge of the parking lot curb and jumped onto the seat. Her feet barely reached the pedals, the paint was chipped from years of use, and the seat swiveled from left to right; the imperfections comforted her.

Turning out onto the graveled road, she almost fell off the bike as an old Ford truck honked its horn at her. She pursed her lips as she steadied herself precariously, and she hesitantly lifted a hand from the handle bar to wave half-heartedly at Jack as he drove past.

The wind whipped her hair into a furious tangle when she began to pick up speed as she flew down Wabash Hill. The large oak trees on either side of the road enveloped her in cool shade, and she marveled at the black of the road contrasting against the deep green blur on both sides of her.

She missed the turn to her home street because it was impossible for her to divert her attention from the long, narrow road. The white colors of houses dotted between the trees flashed in her peripheral vision, but she kept her eyes focused on the dark pavement. The street ended abruptly, and before she could apply her breaks the rubber tube of the front tire ricocheted off an old stone wall.

The bike tipped, and Betty tumbled on to patchy, brittle grass. She moaned as she felt her elbow burn, smarting from the impact. She detangled her left ankle from under the overturned bicycle and unsteadily pushed against the ground onto her feet, brushing the dust residue from her skirt.

She looked up at the spindled, wrought iron entrance attached to the stone structure. Taking a tentative step forward, she entered Creekville Cemetery. Her feet moved across the small, dirt path, leading her to the plot that was painfully familiar.

Her senses were numb, and she did not notice the steady trickle of blood from her elbow staining her cardigan. As she reached the small, black tombstone her eyes darted across the engravement: William "Buddy" McDaugh - beloved son and brother - 1926-1944. Her finger trembled as she reached out to trace her brother's name.

She thought back bitterly to the day he decided to enlist. He had been offered a job at the local Southern Baptist church three months prior to joining the army. His fiancé, Joan Lett, had planned on a May wedding.

Betty reminisced on how Buddy's eyes would light up every time Joan entered the room, how he had talked fervently with their father about his dreams of having children and being a good parent, and how a career with the church would allot ample family time. Then the enlistments began.

Patriotism swept the small town, creating pressure for any fit, young boy to prove himself worthy of his country. Buddy had diverted the expectations and pressure of Creekville for a brief period of time. As young as Betty had been, she was able to recognize the look of disappointment on his friends' faces as they docked ship, leaving Buddy behind.

The night after her school's spring pageant, she heard a noise in her brother's room. She had pushed his door open to find Buddy sobbing, a piece of paper clutched in his hands. As long ago as it had been, she could still hear his voice.

"Hey now, Lizzy-beth," he had said, wiping his eyes, throwing the paper aside, and grabbing her in his strong lean arms,

"I've got to go away for a little bit, okay? Everything's going to be alright. It'll just be for a while, then I'll come back and you can see me and Joanie's new house. Do you want to hear about it again?"

Two weeks later, their family had driven Buddy to the train station an hour away. Her mother had waved him off, crying into her handkerchief, and her father had clasped him on the back as he shook his hand. Betty had clung to his coat, clutching him to her. When the conductor blew his whistle, her mother had pulled her away, ushering her back to the car as the train revved up to leave the station.

That was the last time she had seen her brother.

She looked at her hand resting on the tombstone, and the engagement ring sparkled against it in the dimming daylight. Marriage was all Buddy had ever wanted, but it was stolen from him by others' expectations.

If she was going to have what he had wished for, why was she so miserable? The diamond caught her eye once more, still resting on the grave, and she wrinkled her brow as she saw the similarity between the two stones. She kissed the top of the grave as she stood up, and did not look back as she made her way to the entrance of the cemetery.

She picked up the Schwinn and placed her hands on the handlebars. Her calves pumped furiously against the incline of the hill as she kept her eyes focused on the ink spot on her right hand. The mark was her only escape from the world which encompassed her. It had no motives, no predetermined agenda.

She steered the bicycle to the right of the street and rode past the shops downtown to the hardware store. She needed to disappear, to melt into blissful nothingness if she was going to be

content. Her legs worked furiously against the worn pedals, pushing past the barber shop and the local soda fountain.

When she reached Warner's Hardware, she hopped off the bike, leaving it abandoned on the manicured lawn. As she walked through the isles, shewondered if she were going mad. Her plan made no feasible sense, and would have no apparent outcome that would change her situation. But the way she felt drawing the circles, pressed against the blackboard, and driving across the dark road steadied her resolve.

The heavy can banged against her knee as the thin, wire handle cut into her forearm. The bike slanted to her right as the disproportionate weight threatened to tilt her balance. Mr. Warner had looked at her strangely when she asked him where he kept his gallons of paint.

The homecoming festivities were approaching, and as she was the student council treasurer, she assured the balding, old man that the purchase was going to be used on the banners for the dance. After a final wave from Mr. Warner, and a request to give his salutations to Jack, Betty had slammed the shop door behind her the guilt of her heart pounding in her chest.

She skidded slightly as she turned onto the gravel lane leading up to her house. Slipping the handle from her arm to her hand, she hopped off the bicycle and wheeled it into the crevice between the porch and the brick wall. Buddy had always parked it there, although there had always been sufficient space in the garage.

She crept up to the oblong garage window and peeked in, relieved to find her father's 1946 Dodge absent. Her mother would be over at Jack's house, going over swatches and flower arrangements with his mother while sipping martinis and trading gossip. Betty set the paint can on the ground and grasped the cool, metal handle of the garage door.

With one mighty thrust, the door gave way. When it rolled up on the iron track in the ceiling, she stepped inside. The space smelled of gasoline and mold, and the walls were sparse. Apart from her mother's old sewing machine, it was devoid of clutter.

She peered down at her feet to see a large oil smear her father's car had left behind. The

liquid pooled around her foot, breaking into brilliant rainbows around the edge of her sneaker. She reached down and dipped her finger into the puddle. The slick substance stuck under her fingernail, glistening in the light from outside. With a satisfied sigh, she turned back to pick up the can she had left behind.

She re-entered the garage, paint handle clutched in her fist, and pulled the cord attached to the top of the door with her unoccupied hand. As it slammed to the ground, her legs vibrated from the impact.

With quickened breath, she walked to the screen door connected to the house. Her feet thudded against the hallway carpet, a trail of blackened footprints marring the stiff, beige floors. She paused at her brother's old room, fighting the urge to intrude and see if he was inside.

When she entered her bedroom, she sat the paint can down and pulled the bag off her back. Her room was a weathered shade of pink that clashed violently with her hair. She stripped her ruined sweater over her head and crumpled it in a pile by her bookcase. The wicker furniture had been her mother's, repainted white to hide the wear and tear of years past.

Slipping her sneakers off, she walked toward her bed, can in hand. She sat cross-legged on the pastel comforter, sitting the paint in her lap. She grasped the dipstick Mr. Warner had given her and pressed the flimsy wood into the lip of the can. With a brilliant pop, the lid detached, exposing the silky dark liquid inside.

She took the metal in her shaking hands, transfixed by its contents. With one motion she lifted the container above her head and spilled the paint over her body. When completely empty, she threw the can to the ground and watched, arms resting on her knees, as the darkness took over her.

The black, glutinous liquid crept downward, dripping onto the patchwork quilt she had sewn years ago. The ebony dots skewed the laborious stitching, the fingertip-breaking work that her mother had insisted on, and that she had detested. Her bare, freckled arms tingled as the paint formed sluggish lines, breaking into segregated strips of pale skin and dark brilliance.

A long line slid over the crick of her elbow and across her wrist. As if it knew what she had intended to do all along, the paint trickled across her left ring finger.

The gold band twisted in protest, trying to shield the diamond from harm. Biting her lip, she forced her thumb to flip the ring around, exposing it to the slippery darkness. The tawdry bauble vanished, covered up by a black blanket of comfort.

For the first time in two months, Betty genuinely smiled. Hurriedly cleaning the palms of her hands on the spoiled bedspread below her, she reached over to her nightstand for the Brown application.

*******

Expect a Breaking Edward update, from EPOV, by Sunday.

~browniechadowes


	26. I Have Decided to Do My Routine EPOV

~*~Author's Note~*~

This chap is in EPOV. Yay for spring break, right? Sorry I've been absent lately. I can't guarantee another update soon, but it will be from Bella's POV… and since we already have Edward's, I'll try to find time this weekend to write it up.

Thanks for all of your patience and support. And enjoy the fact that OCDward is back

~*~I Have Decided to Do My Routine~*~

EPOV:

I flexed my fingers, wondering groggily why my covers had become all smooth and fleshlike and… breathing. Why the fuck was my comforter _breathing_? I peered out of my left eye, scrutinizing the small mass that lay in the curve of my body.

Oh. _Oh_.

My head wrapped around the incidents of the night before, and as I thought back to the way she felt, the way I felt when I was with her, I grabbed onto her hip for dear life. I nestled my nose into her wildly tangled hair and breathed in deeply.

"Snow ways, gotsta gimme backta olive… grolive to me… me… Edward tome…"

I stifled a laugh as I listened in on Bella's sleep talking. It became almost an impossibility not to chuckle as her muttering continued. Something about a bear and "frickindevilspawnrosie". I extracted my convulsing body from her, so as not to wake her from her REM cycle.

Shivering as my feet hit the floorboards, I realized that I was completely naked. Naked in a room with the amazingly cute girl that was all mine. Naked in a room where we had joined, finally, together. Naked in a room that, in all honesty, was a fucking mess.

I gripped my hairline and bustled around the dimly lit room a la Mrs. Cleaver… strike that, let's say I strode around the room manfully plumping throw pillows and folding scraps of clothing left over from the night before. Yeah.

After putting my room back in order the best I could, I crept to the bathroom to get ready for the day. Rosalie hadn't put her toiletries back in their rightful place the day before, and I hurriedly made to place them on the right hand shelf, color coordinating, labels facing forward.

I sighed as I twiddled the lever on the shower. Now _that_ was better.

Just as I was on step number two (shampooing my hair), I heard a light knock on the bathroom door. I jumped at the noise. See, the shower is something of a sanctuary to me. As much as I try to suppress my impulses daily, my morning shower is the time I designate to letting myself go along with all the little rituals I like.

It's relaxing and completely self-indulgent.

And very fucking hard to do when an almond-eyed beauty is staring wistfully at you in between the crack of the shower door stall.

"Erm, sorry!" she exclaimed as I locked eyes with her. I didn't know how long she had been there, as she seemed to have knocked on the already open door.

"Oh, uh…" I replied, in a completely eloquent and debonair voice… definitely not in an "I have shampoo in my mouth and look like a wet, rabid dog" kind of way.

"Ah, I'll just…" she said, cutting herself off and pulling on the doorknob, ducking her head out of the bathroom.

"No. Stay," I said, before I even realized that the words were coming out of my mouth. Immediately my stomach clenched, noticing for the first time that the doors of the shower were basically see through… and, even though I was stark naked, the one thing bothering me was the fact that I was only at step number two in my bathing ritual.

"Are you sure?" She asked, shutting the door behind her and reaching to take off the tee shirt I had lent her the night before without waiting for a response. I suppressed a smile at her determinedness. God, this girl was going to be the death of me.

I nodded my head briefly, allowing the shampoo to slip into my eyes. I rubbed them vigorously as I heard the door to the shower slide open, and then close with a resounding click.

When I looked down blearily, I was met with the most beautiful sight in the world. Bella was staring up at me, blinking spastically from the spatters of water landing on her face. If I were a normal guy, I would have taken her right there. I would have cupped her ass, pulled her to me, and ravished the shit out of her.

Aaaand… little Edward was up at attention. Great.

"Ummm, Bella?"

"Mmmm hmmm?" She hummed, pressing herself to me.

I noticed my fingers ceaselessly strumming against my own thigh, my head growing weightless, thoughts spinning like a cyclone around her. _Her_ in here with me. I felt the familiar tug of war between my need for her and my need for routine.

My heart pounded, threatening to punch out of my chest, and my breathing grew rapid. God, I couldn't do this. I couldn't even be in the fucking shower with her without losing it. I wanted to be here with her, damn it. I wanted to be alone, damn it even more.

"Olives," I whispered, pressing my forehead into hers.

"Oh!" she said lightly, removing her wet body from mine and stepping away, "Okay, alright. Just… just calm down. I'm going to leave. Just breath in and-"

Her voice hit me, tinkling bells cutting through the incessant, ugly crap rummaging through my head. I did as I was told, and took a deep breath in. I sputtered slightly as water caught in my nose, and I found myself again.

She was stepping out of the bathtub when I came up with a plan. Maybe it'd work, maybe it'd fail. But, hell, it was worth a try.

"Wait," I said, grabbing for her wrist and maneuvering her towards me, "Can we try something?"

She raised her right eyebrow in what I assumed to be a scrutinizing way. All I knew that it was damn cute and not at all calculating.

"Nothing like that," I said, chuckling as I stroked her damp hair. "Look… I want you in here with me. There's nothing more I could ask for. Would you… I mean, do you want to…" I took a deep breath, wondering how far she was willing to venture into the oddness of me.

She waited for me to finish, looking up at me with inquisitive eyes, the wrinkle above her nose growing as I stumbled around, trying to explain what I needed to do for her to stay there with me.

Get some fucking balls, Cullen. Just ask her.

"Will you let me do my routine with you?"

It came out in a hurry, a forced jumble of words bubbling out.

She giggled under the spray of the water, and I felt her ribcage jump under my touch. I tried not to look at her breasts as they followed behind her body. I needed to focus.

"Sorry," she blurted between bursts of laughter, "but that sounded like such an innuendo."

I rolled my eyes and waited for her amusement to subside. She shook her head, breathing in and trying to calm her lungs.

"Sorry again," she said, composing herself and looking back up at me. "Alright, let's try it."

Her eyes were glowing and she dropped her hands to her sides. With one sweeping motion, I washed the rest of the shampoo out of my hair and tried to block out the fact that I had cut my steps short. I pushed all of my focus onto her.

She gave a coy smile as I concentrated on the products lining my designated shelf on the left. I thought about having her use Rosalie's things for a moment, but for some reason I grew excited at the fact that by using mine she would smell like me… like she smelled in the morning after we had slept together.

I reached for the body wash, grabbed the loofah, and placed five dots (four on each corner and one in the middle) onto the bristled surface. Three times clockwards on her right arm, three times counter on her left.

Five on her right thigh, then five the other way on her left.

Rinse thirty seconds on the right side, then thirty counts on the left.

I tried to ignore her fixed stare as she watched my hands dart over her body.

I washed down to her ankles, alternating as I had with her arms, then dragged the loofah up in a slanted line to her stomach. I paused at her breasts, forcing myself to focus and not become enraptured by the way her nipples had reacted to my touch.

Fuck.

Oh. Holy. Fuck.

"Hey," a soft voice whispered, touching the nape of my neck and capturing my attention. "Are you okay?"

I gulped down the urges, both primal and anxious that were coursing through me, and smiled as I nodded.

She had successfully pulled me from my slight panic, and I moved on to shampooing her hair. I let the quarter-sized dollop envelope my palm, splintering in between the crevices of my hand. I laced the gel through her long strands, working from the roots to the tips.

Her soft, long hair felt like heaven, and I selfishly wondered if she would mind us making this a regularity.

I tilted her head back, making sure to place my hand across her eyes to shield them from the suds. The stream of water hit her hair, and I became transfixed at the fluid, silky strands as they dangled down to the small of her back.

God. I was the most lucky fucking bastard in the world.

I could stay in there forever.

When I was finished, I wrapped her in one of my white, fluffy towels. Start at the right of the body, wrap around, twist the other end twice, and tuck into the left side of the body.

Perfect.

She must have noticed my satisfaction, because after I had stepped back and begun to rummage for my own towel, her small hand caught my cheek.

"Edward Cullen, you're kind of amazing, you know that?"

I could feel my brow bunch as I looked at her beaming face. If anything, I thought the whole shower ordeal would end up being a weird overload for her. I hadn't exactly expected this sort of reaction.

"But," she continued, before I had a chance to refute her statement, "there is one pivotal thing missing from your 'routine' (she even used little air quotes…. God, she's too fucking cute)."

Before I knew it, her lips were on mine. I forgot about the towel, about the steps that were to follow after the shower, about anything. I was simply floating in the taste, the smell, the, well, _every _thing that was her.


	27. Stupid Fluffy Towels BPOV

~*~ Author's Note ~*~

Okay guys, a rehashing from BPOV. Nothing too new, but I hope this will tide you over until my finals are over in two weeks. Then I promise, scout's honor, that I will be updating weekly.

Thank you all for your adds and reviews.

~*~ Stupid Fluffy Towel ~*~

His fingers twiddled the delicate toothpick as I felt my mouth fill with saliva. He was across the table from me, but I couldn't get the courage up to talk to him. His thumb caressed the olive dangling precariously off of the skewer, and I worried that it would fall before he could take it off himself.

In one fell swoop, my fingers clasped onto the garnish and I squinted my eyebrows as I made to return it to the Ziplock bag where it belonged.

Before I could stick it in, strong fingers slapped it out of my hand.

"No," he said, in his silky smooth voice, "this is mine."

"But… but no, it belongs to me," I answered, trying fruitlessly to tug the olive out of his grasp.

"Bella, I need this. I just can't give it back. I don't just give out my olives to random waitresses," he explained, flashing a patronizing smile.

"No way, you have to give me back the olive… give it to me," I felt myself plead, dropping to my knees as I began to cry. "To me… Edward, give it to me."

His face grew fuzzy, and Edward and the olive disappeared into the background of the bar. Everything around me grew black, and I was being swallowed up into the dark abyss.

Then, just as I was about to break down completely, I felt my spine vibrate. Wait… my real spine. My body was convulsing, propelled by something behind me. My dream self wanted to stay sleeping so that I could try to find him.

The conscious side of me, however, had just realized that I was in bed… with Edward Cullen… after a night of…

Oh. _Oh_.

I felt his fingers, his _real_, so not dreamlike fingers, grab onto my hip tightly and I sighed as I burrowed my back into him and allowed myself to drift back to sleep.

My mind grew fuzzy as the events from the past night assaulted my mind, and, remembering how rude Rosalie had been to him, my mind became full of well… more colorful vocabulary than normal.

I was in a state between wakefulness and sleep, the one I particularly enjoyed when either fantasizing about gaining crazy super powers and kicking Rosalie's ass or being able to dictate exactly what I did, or what Edward did _to_ me, in scenarios that would make me blush in real life.

But these were my dreams, and in my dreams I don't blush. Ever. It's payback for turning bright red every single day of my conscious life. So there.

I was in the middle of obliterating Rosalie with a bazooka when I heard the faint running of water. Sleep Bella threw away the ammo, loading my imagination with images of Edward's many physical, erm, attributes in place of bullets.

Slightly awake Bella bitch-slapped Sleep Bella into submission and pointed out the fact that tangible Edward was, most likely, in my shower… naked.

With that conclusion, I forced myself to open my eyes and wake the hell up (with much protestation from my sleep-ego). Eh, she'd forgive me.

I wiggled out of his heavy down comforter, and as my legs came in contact with the cold air around me, I became painfully aware of the fact that I was pretty naked under Edward's tee-shirt. Before I gave myself the chance to chicken out, I sprinted to the bathroom door, nearly tripping over my feet.

My fingers grasped the knob and I pulled the door open tentatively. I was immediately enveloped in steam, and my eyes roved over to the nearly see-through shower door. Through the small opening between the door and the wall, I caught a glimpse of slender fingers raking through wet, dark hair.

Ugh. I think I began to salivate. I was completely transfixed, watching the disembodied hand pass over again through the hair. When his body turned towards me, my hand shot out at the door, my fist knocking on it. Sure, the warning was a bit late. But better than never I guess.

One lone green eye peered at me through the crack, eyebrow raised.

"Erm, sorry!" I eeked out, making to slide back out of the door. This had been a stupid idea. Dream Edward's words flitted through my mind, _I don't just give out my olives to random waitresses_, and I suddenly became painfully self-conscious.

"Oh, uh," he sputtered through what I assumed to be a mouthful of water.

"Ah, I'll just…" And, if I had sprinted to the bathroom before, I freaking sped like a marathon runner out of there.

But before I could make my way completely out of the room, I heard his voice call after me.

"No, stay."

My heart leapt into my throat, and for some reason those demanding words filled my body with a confidence that only Edward had ever been able to provoke out of me. In one fell swoop, I threw the tee-shirt over my head before he could change his mind. I was acting on adrenaline, and I hurriedly opened the shower door before I lost my nerve.

His eyes were squinted shut, his hands balled up into fists and rubbing suds out of his eyes. I took advantage of this and took a good few seconds soaking in the image of his body.

He was magnificent. I'd never had the chance to just see him, all of him. The droplets from the shower's water clung to his pale body, his stomach bubbly and slick with body wash. My gaze slid further down, wanting to view every inch of him and…

Oh God. My face blushed and I made myself look back up. Yep, I had seen every. Single. Inch.

His eyes opened and he looked down at me blearily. I moved slowly towards him, wanting to feel his skin on mine. His breathing hitched as I brushed my hand against his bicep.

We stood, almost pressed together, for a few moments. I waited for him to make the next move, wanting to give him time to adjust and wondering if this was what he had meant by asking me not to leave.

I gasped slightly as he pressed his forehead to mine and whispered, "olives."

His brow was scrunched against mine. His face was too close to mine for me to see his expression, but I could imagine the one he was wearing. Eyes closed tight, lips pursed, tilting into a downward frown. The face he always displayed when disappointed in himself.

"Oh!" I said, just wanting to make everything better. Make him feel the way he made me feel all the time.

I tried to think of remedies, of solutions to get him outside of the dangerous territory of his own mind. Having me there obviously wasn't helping.

Stupid Bella. Ugh.

I made to get out of the tub, telling him to breathe as I forced myself to wriggle out of his grasp. My back was to the shower, and I had become aware of just how exposed I had been when I heard him speak softly the sweetest words I had ever heard.

Defeated Bella melted away, replaced with the Bella that was reserved for Edward, and Edward only.

"Wait."

My self-berating was sated, and I turned around slowly, covering my breasts with my arms as I faced him.

He grabbed onto my wrist, moving it away from my chest and met my eyes. I became lost in a sea of green.

"Can we try something?"

I felt my eyebrow raise on its own volition as the spark in my lower stomach ignited and I became uncomfortably bothered as memories of the night before overwhelmed my senses.

"Nothing like that," explaining what he wanted to do.

Aaand… he immediately brought be back to reality. I was not particularly happy, but when he said he wanted to do _his _routine, _his_ personal coping skill, I realized he was pulling me, inch by inch, into his world and I stepped into it greedily.

The next minutes were a blur. He was all over, touching and rubbing me. I remembered body wash lather against my thighs and strong, thorough fingers rubbing my scalp.

I was a puddle of girlish need, yet I stopped myself from jumping him. I was sure neither of us wanted a repeat of the bathroom bar. Just as I was thinking of how wrong and how equally right we were together, I gasped as his finger slipped and brushed against my nipple.

All I wanted to do was press into him, to ask him for more. To freaking push him to the bottom of the tub and have him take me right there.

But I stopped. I stopped and looked at him. He looked like a scared child, his slick chest moving up and down in rapid succession from his shallow breathing, and I knew this wasn't about me and him. Hell, this wasn't about me at all. This was about him.

"Hey, are you okay?" I asked, touching the back of his neck and hoping he would come back to me.

His eyes refocused on mine and he nodded, giving the crooked smile I loved so much.

I made a conscious effort to behave myself after that, standing as still as I could as he worked his fingers against my flesh and my hair.

Before I knew it, he was insistently wrapping me up in a fluffy, white towel. I bit my tongue, because part of me wanted to protest that I felt like a little kid having her parent wrap her up after a bath. The other part of me just wanted to point out that after that tease of a shower, there shouldn't be much need to cover me up.

I settled for stating the obvious.

"Edward Cullen, you're kind of amazing, you know that?"

He smiled down at me and was about to speak, but I cut him off. This relationship went two ways, and I wanted to make clear what I was feeling. Not being up front with him was what got us into most of our messes anyway.

"But, there is one pivotal thing missing from your 'routine'".

And before I knew it, our lips were together. Whether I had made the first move or him, I didn't know. We blended together, the towel laying abandoned and forgotten on the floor.

That's right, stupid, comfy fluffy towel. Stay on the floor where you belong.

The scent of our skin mingled together. We smelled of his soap, of his shampoo, and as he cradled me, laying my back on the towel on the floor, we just _were_.


	28. Crimson Glass BPOV

~*~AN~*~

Woot. Yes, I will be updating more often. Class is done and I only work 4 days a week. So this one is a bit of a cliffhanger, but EPOV will be up by next week. Thank you all for your reviews and your patience with my schedule. Enjoy!

~*~Crimson Glass~*~

BPOV:

"What?" I asked exasperatedly as I watched Alice bounce on the tips of her toes uncontrollably. I rubbed absentmindedly at my elbow which had become encased in the sticky residue from the bar top.

"Oh I dunno, it's just been… what, like two weeks since you've updated me on my brother's intentions with you."

I shot a furtive look at Edward across the room, who was sitting with Jasper at his normal table twirling a long strand of olives in his fingers. Gah… my body turned to mush and couldn't help but smile as he locked eyes with me and purposefully popped an olive off of the end of his toothpick and flicked it into his mouth.

"His intentions?" I replied, still looking at him and quirking my eyebrow upward as he gave a devilish smirk. It was a habit I had started to adopt from Edward. We'd spent the past few weeks together, me molding to his routine and him being more vocal about what he needed.

"I just want to make sure he's treating my best friend right, is all. He's never been interested in anyone the way he is with you, not even with Tan-"

Alice was cut off by Rosalie slamming down the drink canister and looking at the two of us with an icy glare that made my legs turn to mush.

"Girls, you see all these people?" she asked, gesturing to the crowded bar. "Yeah, they're not going to serve themselves and when you two gossip around like fucking geese it makes everyone get up out of their goddamn seats and swamp me. So pull it the fuck together."

My feet were rubber, and they flopped along none too encouragingly. Of course, I tripped after my third step, over spilling the shots Rosalie had just made for me. I looked with bug-eyes away from the tray swimming in alcohol back towards the bar, where I swear I saw her mouth the word "stumblefuck" before getting back out the Patron and refilling three shot glasses.

"Rose," Alice said softly, "it's Bella's birthday. I don't care if Emmett has some frat thing you're missing. You think you could lay off a bit?"

"Aaaallliiiccceee," I whined. I didn't normally celebrate birthdays, and would much rather the attention be _off_ of me, especially if I was working. More especially if I was working with Rosalie.

"Here," she said, shooting an obviously irritated look to Alice, "take these and don't spill them again, birthday girl. It's Patron, not some well tequila. Go take it over to table nine and tell them one's on the house since it took you so long to get it to them."

Rosalie wiped her brow and went to greet the long line of customers crowding the front of the bar. I couldn't help but be intimidated by the way she handled the rush. I always became flustered, not being able to keep all my tables straight.

However, it did help to have Edward there.

Or didn't. That's probably why I was so damn distracted.

He had showed up thirty minutes after my shift started, strawberry cupcake in hand. It was adorned with a birthday candle. I begrudgingly made a wish, hoping that the day would just end. He was about as good as his sister at listening to my request to just glide over the whole birthday thing.

I had blown out the candle, pouting as I did so. This only caused Edward to smile his signature smile. That smile would be the death of me. I took a greedy bite out of the cupcake to appease him.

I hate that he is a good cook… because I kind of had eaten the whole darn thing in three bites. If the cupcake was good, it had been nothing in comparison to his lips on mine right after…

And, God, I need to stop fantasizing.

I made my way to the table, turning directly from the bar with my reloaded tray and refusing to look Rosalie in her death stare blue eyes. My heart pounded in my throat and I wondered at the fact that she could make me feel like the most insignificant person in the world. Alice gave me a squeeze on my arm as I passed her.

"Here you go, guys," I said, and I was aware at how meek my voice sounded.

"Shots, man. You know what tequila does to me," one of the guys said as he took the glass out of my trembling fingers.

"Hah, tequila my ass. More like ta-kill-ya," another quipped drunkenly.

I fought to keep my eyes from rolling as I passed the third shot to the last guy. I peeked to the corner where Edward and Jasper were sitting. He was looking at me bemusedly. I was glad that he could be relaxed enough to express some sort of emotion. The last few weeks had been taxing, as he was studying for the MCATs and wasn't confident in his practice scores.

Perfect was anything that would sate his own expectations.

"One of those is on the house, for it taking so long," I said automatically, hoping my face hadn't turned red from the admission.

"Well, shit, it didn't take that long," the first guy said, smiling and chuckling to his friends. "Here, you take this one and we'll order another."

"I couldn't-" I started to say until a shot was being thrust into my hand.

A familiarly tinkly voice caught my eardrums, and I wanted to kill the person it belonged to on site.

"It's Bella here's birthday. She deserves a shot!" Alice proclaimed, passing by me to drop off lagers to the table behind mine.

I grimaced at her, then gave an apologetic smile to the table.

"Yeeees!" One of the guys cheered, and chinked the bottom of the shot glass still extended in my hand.

With one last daggering glare to the back of Alice, I wrinkled my nose and took the shot. The alcohol burned, the taste of grass coating my throat, and I coughed at the aftertaste left in my mouth.

"Hey, you took that like a champ. Order eight more shots. It's our waitress' day of birth, goddamnit," the second guy said, and I weakly picked up their glasses to make my way back to Rosalie.

Four shots later I was teetering precariously, trying to keep a straight mind. Edward had tried to get up from his table during the last shot, but I saw Jasper restrain him out of the corner of my eyes. I wished he would have come. I wasn't one to really hold my alcohol, especially tequila.

Ta-kill-ya was right.

"Isabelle, you're cut," Rosalie said curtly, pointing to the screen to have me log out. "Just clock out and have the rest of your birthday. One more spilled drink and I'm going to have to report it in the manager log."

I thought, for a brief second, I saw the right corner of her lips turn upward… but it was probably a trick of the light. Right after I had finished signing out, a pale ale was awaiting me at the table, and I had a sneaking suspicion that Rosalie had rung it up free of charge.

At least I figured that out by the way Alice was beaming profusely towards the bar. If that was the perk to having a birthday and all the embarrassing attention on me, I'd take it.

"Bells," the delicious honey voice whispered into my ear, "you alright?"

"Yessir," I said rather loudly. I hadn't realized how much the shots had affected me and I took a deep swig of the beer in front of me in order to dilute the tequila swimming around in my stomach. Edward's fingers strummed against my waist as he twirled his now empty toothpick against the rim of his glass. He seemed pensive, and had that look on his face like he was a million miles away.

Sober Bella would have taken him aside and asked if everything was okay. I knew he hadn't received the marks he wanted on his last test and that it had been eating away at him. But semi-drunk Bella just couldn't get the words out.

I squeezed his fingers in mine instead and hoped that he would be alright. Just as I was about to ask for a glass of water to keep my head from spinning, I felt Edward hesitate beside me and take something out of his pocket.

"Bella, honey," he said, making sure he caught my eye as he slid the package in front of me, "happy you-know-what."

I smiled what I'm sure was my "hey, I'm Bella. I'm a lightweight and a lush" smile at him and made to tear away at the paper. However the corners were meticulously folded, gold triangles against the sheen of the background.

Knowing that the 45 degree angles most likely matched up perfectly, I stopped my impulse to rip through the paper. I carefully removed the tape, making sure not to crinkle the paper and let it lay in a neat pile on the table; in direct placement of the 90 degree angle of the table.

Before I could open the box, I giggled lightly at the relieved expression on Edward's face. He noticed my reaction to his mannerisms and commented.

"I'm just glad you accepted a present of any kind, to be honest," he said, winking at me and nervously twiddling his fingers against his seat's edge. I don't think he was aware that I realized his nervous tick usually meant that he was fighting impulses. So, instead of his words being reassuring to me, I felt unease as I opened the box.

My fingers stumbled on the latch of the plastic, and I was lamenting the shots I had taken earlier. What laid in front of me was just…well… perfect. And bizarre.

"Pride and Prejudice and Zombies," I said, reading the cover out loud.

"Flip to the inside," Edward said, his eyes dancing with a certain tightness, his fingers still performing their melodious tapping.

_Because all real love stories have their abnormalities… and I hope this will keep in perspective that ours at least doesn't involve flesh-eating corpses._

_Love,_

_The lucky bastard next to you with the olives_

Before I knew it, I had literally jumped him. The book was clutched in my right hand, my left grabbing at the back of his hair as I greedily took his lips in mine. When Jasper began coughing not-so-nonchalantly I tore myself from Edward, feeling the blush from the tequila creep down to my chest.

"Ummm, let me just get some water from Rosalie," I said, trying to cover myself with my sweatshirt as I made my way up to the bar.

"Let me help you. I don't think you should be in close proximity to Eddie right now, you're bordering on turning scarlet," Jasper quipped as he took my elbow in his grasp.

And in one tumbling motion, I could feel my body lurching forward into the glass rack, could feel my fingers grabbing onto delicate wine glasses and tilting high balls. Jasper's nails were at my neck, trying to right my feet forward. But it was too late.

I went crashing into the glassware, only vaguely aware of the piercing pain stabbing into my right arm and leg. A slight taste of metal hit my taste buds, and I realized that my cheek was pressed against the wooden floor and the bits of glass shimmering in the bar light.

The haziness from the shots and the beer made me feel as if I were in a dream. Jasper was pulling at my left arm, but the floor felt so comforting. I couldn't get up. Alice had dropped her tray on the nearest table, and I saw her small figure crouch down towards me. Rosalie's pointed heels scrambled against the glass as her voice cursed above me.

I couldn't see Edward. I couldn't hear Edward.

I only wanted to feel him near me.

The world spun around me, and I realized that I was face to face in a pool of my own blood. God, I wanted him to be there.

Where was he?

The crimson stained glass glittered with the green and yellow neon lights, and I marveled at their beauty.

Where was he?

Where…


	29. Dreaded semihiatus BrowniePOV

~*~ Author's Note ~*~

So I have 2 summer classes I'm taking. This isn't a long hiatus. I'll post the next chap next week… but after that there are only about 2 more. So this is a taster of what I've been writing and I promise a genuine update by Wednesday.

Amanda Bigler

The Orangerie

The cramped studio apartment was eerily quiet, the battered CD player in the corner being the only source of sound. A low, vibrato of a cello permeated the air as Nicolas sat, bent over the treasure he had acquired an hour ago. His fingers trembled as he smoothed the edges of the soda bottle label. He grabbed his worn, thick copy of Histoire de l'Art and flipped it open to the dog-eared page. He marveled at the contrast of the violent blue and orange print of the Orangina label against the crimson tint of Picasso's _Nude Against a Red Background_.

He lay the flimsy wrapper onto the page and shut the textbook. It would be flat enough to use by the next morning. Getting up from the worn black futon, he shuffled over to his open closet and placed the book face-up in the corner. The wardrobe was devoid of clothing, and had been so since he had began his project. The tips of his fingers

ran along the collage he was almost finished creating, and he savored the feel of each crease and texture. He had pasted multiple labels, receipts and napkins to the back wall; every piece was a tangible, reverent memento of her.

When he had finished admiring his handiwork, he moved away, sliding the closet door shut. As he attempted to look out of the miniscule window, he was distracted by his own reflection. He took inventory of his appearance: unruly brown hair, a substantially crooked nose, and eyes far too large for his own face. These recognitions further agitated him, and he wondered if his physical attributes played a part in Erin's indifference towards him. His tear ducts constricted at the thought, and he diverted his attention to the street below him. The narrow alley was lit with the deep glow of the sunset, and he debated taking a walk to the sixth arrondissement. He lived in Vanves, a suburb of Paris, and the trip would take him almost an hour on foot; however the April weather had been agreeable, _douce _even, and he had not seen Erin in almost two hours. He felt anxious at this revelation, and he knew where he needed to be. With resolve, he slipped on his sneakers and turned the large, brass handle of his front door.

The route was familiar to him, and he let his feet lead as he walked past Metro Corentin Celton while he tried to tune out the buzzing sound of passers-by. He had not been on the Metro in over six months. Crowds did not agree with him, and he tried to avoid being in a confined space with them, even if it meant lengthening his trip by thirty minutes. He closed his eyes as the slight breeze raked through his mussed, tawny hair. Breathing in the crisp spring air, he reveled in the fact that each step he took propelled him closer to Erin. He thought of her long, brunette hair, her small, upturned nose, and

her unassuming naïve smile. In his mind, she was the embodiment of perfection. Each night before laying out his futon, he wondered how he had become so lucky as to find her. If he had not frequented the same café as her, his life would be wholly different. A satisfied grin was plastered on his face as he made his way through the swarm of business people milling around Montparnasse tower. He was over half-way to her apartment, and his stride became longer as he hastened to finish the last leg of his trip.

He turned on the corner of St. Michel Square, passing the tourist carts overflowing with postcards and little plastic Eiffel towers. He wrinkled his nose when the spray of St. Michel fountain peppered his face with water. Wiping his cheeks and squeezing through the bustling crowd, he tried to keep his composure while the mass of people pressed against him on both sides. He took a sharp left past the overpriced creperie onto Rue Domesnil, a small, dimly lit street easily overlooked by sightseeing foreigners. Two blocks down the road, he sighed when he spotted the Guimard cast-iron gate that decorated the entrance to her apartment building. As per his ritual, he hoisted himself onto the brick privacy fence into the courtyard. The worn stone scratched against the palms of his hands, and he struggled to swing his legs up and over the wall. Sitting in his usual spot on the bench of a small wooden pavilion, he craned his head upward to the window with the burgundy curtains. The long, door-length panes were open, and he watched as the light fabric fluttered in the wind. Instantaneously, a cello began to play a Bach concerto. Nicolas had heard her play the composition multiple times, and after successfully retrieving a copy of the song from the internet he had promptly burned it onto a CD so that he could imagine himself listening to her play whenever he wished. The

disk had run continuously on repeat ever since.

As she struck a minor chord, he got up from his stoop to edge closer to the opening in the window. He could make out her side profile, her left pointer finger shaking furiously with vibrato, her right moving backward and forward fluidly against the strings. She had swept her long, brown hair over her shoulder, exposing her pale neck to the streetlamp's light. She bit her lip as she reached for a faraway note, and Nicolas felt his mouth turn upward into a smile as he admired her determination. Without meaning to, he let a chuckle escape his lips when her finger slid to the correct note. The song halted abruptly, interrupted by a small clink of woods tapping against each other. Erin laid the bow against the belly of the cello and turned to the open window. He panicked as she turned her head downward towards him. Her eyes darted around the courtyard looking for the cause of the sound. Heart thudding and palms sweating, Nicolas hurriedly rushed back over to the stone fence and scurried up and over it, hoping that she had not recognized him.

The next morning he woke to small beams of sunlight peeking through his blinds and slashing across his face. He scrunched his eyelids together, closing them tightly and frowning to himself. Every morning was a struggle to come to consciousness. When he was asleep, he was free to be with Erin, talk to her, caress her as he longed to. He knew that after he left his bed, he would have to work to suppress the harsh reality of his situation.

He moved barefoot across the stiff, creaking floorboards to his closet. Picking up the textbook, he flipped to the page where he had pressed the label. He grabbed for the

bottle of rubber cement on the floor and swished the transparent liquid to the back of the paper. His fingertips pressed firmly against its corners as he smoothed the label to the wall. He marveled at how her fingers had taken it off the bottle, pulling delicately on the corner until the glue gave way, leaving a naked bottle in front of her and a colorful piece of paper in her hand. She would discard the brilliant scrap on the table, leaving it abandoned and alone, day after day. Only after she had packed her things into her backpack, exited, and turned the corner out of eyesight would he shuffle over to the table and rescue any remains that he could.

His hands finished their work, and he stepped back to look at the completed collage. Receipts were pasted chronologically, the dates spanning from February third to yesterday, April fourteenth. In between the credit card slips were blotted napkins, scraps of sugar cube wrappers, and Orangina labels. Not a trace of the wood-paneled backing was left uncovered. His masterpiece was a portrait of her, reminiscent of the Picasso work that reminded him of her. The finished mural bolstered his determination, sealing his decision to finally confront Erin.

He rummaged through the random assortment of clothes in the far corner of the studio for something to wear. It was Saturday, and he knew Erin would be at the café by 15:30 hours. He had slept through lunch, having returned to his apartment late the night before. After running from Erin's home, he had wandered aimlessly around the small side streets of the sixth arrondissement. He knew he could not avoid her any longer, and he decided that he would finally confront her the next day. When the wind chilled his jacket-clad back and the metro gates closed, he finally made his way back to Vanves. As he was

pulling a light grey tee shirt over his head, his phone vibrated against the top of the side table. He ambled over to the other side of the room and stifled a groan when he recognized the number on his caller I.D.

"Allo Maman," he said, tiredly forcing himself to speak to his mother. She called almost every day, and her constant worry of his well-being grated on his nerves.

"How are you, Nic? Courses are going well?" Her voice was high and cheery in what Nic assumed to be a comforting tone. However, the false bravado she adopted when checking in on him made him feel like he was being patronized.

"Nothing, and yes," he quipped curtly. Every day the questions were the same. He plunged through the mundane inquisition, hoping that she would move onto more

interesting topics.

"And you've been taking your medication like the psychol-"

"_Yes_, maman," he interrupted, defensive because he, in fact, had not refilled his prescription in over three months. The pills Dr. Piquet had prescribed him numbed his senses, plunging him into a world that was neither depressing nor elating; it just existed. He had no longer suffered from obsessive thoughts or bizarre compulsions the one month he took the capsules religiously; however, he had no longer felt _anything_. His portfolio stopped expanding due to his lack of inspiration, and his professors at Beaux Arts deemed his work as "stale" and "merely passable". He decided to stop taking his prescription the day his studio professor snatched up the bland canvas in front of Nic and asked him to leave the class until he decided to put forth more effort. He had met Erin two days later while sulking in the busy café trying to find inspiration.

"Because, you know, the… well, the accident only happened a few months ago and I worry about-"

"Ma-_man_," he whined, cutting her off yet again, "I said I'm fine."

He did not like to think about the accident, the reason his mother had hovered over him for almost half a year and the catalyst for him being in and out of psychiatric offices. But she had brought up the subject, and now all he could think of was the way Miel's shaggy, blonde fur bounced when she ran to catch her ball, the way her liquid black eyes opened wide and her head cocked to the side when he returned home for a visit, the way she just wouldn't _sit still _while Nicolas was trying to paint her, how he had wrestled to keep her in one spot until she no longer moved again. He had continued painting until his mother came home from the Monoprix, shopping bags in hand. She walked over to Nicolas and the easel when Miel did not get off the grass in the front yard to greet her. Nicolas finally dropped his paintbrush, splattering golden drops against the harsh green grass, and turned to his mother. He tried to explain the accident, the fact that he really had not meant to hurt Miel. The shopping bags had tumbled from her hands, apples and lunch meat spilling out across the yard.

He heard his mother sigh over the receiver, and he was relieved when he realized that she had decided to abandon the issue.

"So that girl you've been seeing… the American? How is she?"

"She's perfect, as always," he replied, and he smiled as the memory of her assaulted his mind. "A funny thing happened when we were at the café the other day. She kept trying to ask for a bottle of water, but she confused the word bottle for box. The server was confused."

"Well, did you tell him what she meant? It's not nice to have her struggle like that."

"No," he said slowly, choosing his words carefully, "she remembered the right phrase after a couple tries. She's very smart."

"Well, she should be, to be with a boy like you."

"She played me a concerto last night. I thought it'd be nice to return the favor and take her to the Orangerie this evening. Show her some paintings, let her see what I'm passionate about."

He trudged along the outside of the Tuileries' Garden an hour after his mother's phone call. His fingers bounced along the thin, black railing while he counted down the minutes until he would see her again. He quickened his pace when he neared the violent yellow awning of Café Voltaire. Waiting impatiently to cross the traffic-crowded street, he tried to tune out the loud, booming voice of an American tourist. She was speaking rapidly and he could barely understand what she was saying. Something about the Louvre and the Mona Lisa. He had heard Erin speak English several times in passing, and even though the syllables were clipped and hard, to Nicolas her voice was the antithesis of this boisterous woman.

When the dull glow of the streetlight changed from red to white, he moved

quickly past the woman and sprinted to the entrance of the restaurant. The patio was brimming with customers, most of whom were foreign sightseers due to the close proximity of the many attractions: the Louvre museum, the Champs Elysees, and the

Luxembourg Palace. His head began to ache from tuning out the multilingual chatter around him, and he quickly pushed open the café door to find solace, to find _her_.

The inside of the café was large and lavish, containing coupled light brown wicker chairs matched with smaller, round tables cloaked in white and set with fragile china bread plates and silverware wrapped decoratively in mustard yellow napkins. Nicolas' gaze darted to the far right corner of the room where Erin regularly sat. The tip of his worn black shoe caught the edge of a welcome mat, and he tried fruitlessly to mask his embarrassment and the blush of his cheeks as he stumbled into the café. He spotted her long brown hair that curtained her face, and he tried to maintain his composure.

He forcefully kicked the welcoming rug back into place in front of the entrance door and sidled into a corner seat that would allow him to observe her without seeming too obvious. A waiter came over to him, and without asking for his order placed a small cup of espresso in front of him. He had frequented the café regularly within the past few months, and the wait staff knew the routine. He would have three cups of espresso, two lumps of sugar to each shot, and no need for a menu.

Erin's lips puckered around the small opening of the teardrop-shaped Orangina bottle. Nicolas watched as her throat contracted from swallowing the bright orange liquid. He was transfixed by her, and he spent the next hour trying to count the freckles on her arms. Thirty-two or thirty-three, he was not sure of the number. So he began again, burning each speckle into his memory. He was mid-count, at twenty-one, when her eyes snapped up from the notebook she had been writing in. Their eyes met, and instead of looking down at his cappuccino as per usual, he held her gaze. Before he realized he had

gotten up from the table, he was over on her side of the café. His heart beat painfully in his chest, and he grinned furiously when her mouth opened and she began to speak to

him.

"Salut," she began, her light voice tickling his ears, "I to see you here each day. I hope you say hello a lot."

He could understand what she was saying, even though her French was heavily accented with disjointed syllables and rough consonants. He did not know how to respond, not wanting to seem foolish. She had said she hoped _he_ would come and talk to _her_. Had she not realized how extensively he idolized her? As he was trying to put his feelings into words, she cut through the silence.

"Sorry, my French is sick. I try to make effort to be better… What is your name?"

"Nicolas," he croaked out, forcing his vocal chords to make any sort of sound.

She smiled at him and replied, "I'm-"

"Erin," he finished, grabbing for her hand laying on the top of the table.

She gave him a shocked look, and Nicolas reasoned that she was probably impressed by his attention, by the way he knew everything about her. Her first name was minimal next to everything he had observed about her.

"How do you know my name?" she asked, looking down at Nicolas' hand as it touched the top of hers. It took him a moment to realize what she had said, as she had switched to English.

"I know much about you," he shrugged, enveloping her tiny hand in his calloused palm. "Can I show you something?

"I… have a lot of work to do," she looked down to their entwined hands, and Nicolas' heart skipped a beat.

"Please? Just thirty minutes. I promise it will be worth your time."

Nicolas held his breath as he watched her make up her mind. Her brow scrunched up in concentration, but her expression was ambiguous to him. He began breathing again once she finally replied.

"Well, how often are you in Paris, right?"

Their hands broke apart as she shoved her work into her backpack. Nicolas

snatched it up from the table and slung it over his own back, refusing to let her carry it. He pulled open the exit door of the café and followed Erin out into the early evening air. The crowds had begun to settle down, and Nicolas checked his watch anxiously, making sure that they would make it to the Orangerie on time. It was nearing 18:00 hours but they only had three blocks to walk. Erin spoke hurriedly in rushed, bubbling English. Nicolas could only understand about half of what she was saying, but he did not mind. He simply listened as the phrases rolled off of her tongue as he walked alongside her, feeling as if he had been dropped into a surreal dream.

They reached the entrance to the museum, and he heard her give a minute gasp.

"Wow, this is so beautiful. _Magnifique_," she said, gesturing widely with her arms and looking hungrily at the sculpted architecture and the smooth, stone walls surrounded by blooming rose bushes.

Nicolas nodded his head in agreement, regarding Erin with the same expression she was using on the Orangerie. He touched her waist lightly with his left hand and

ushered her out of the breezy evening into the quiet museum. A couple people milled about, but for the most part the museum was empty. He paid the doorman sixteen euro and, Erin in tow, lead the way to the familiar Picasso section. The small annex glowed with the dim spotlights attributed to each painting. Erin lingered at the first painting, but Nicolas tugged on her arm impatiently, leading her over to the far corner of the room.

"Look at this one," he said, gesturing to Picasso's original painting of _Nude Against a Red Background_. The contours of the subject's body were petite and pubescent, chin turned down shyly and long brunette hair flowing behind her back.

"Oh that one's… a little creepy. I mean, look at her eyes. They're just so dark, so blank. Besides she looks too young to be posing naked. She seems really uncomfortable," Erin said, turning from the painting and making to move on to the next one.

Nicolas stopped her, catching her arm and spinning her around to look at him. "Erin," he said, "you should look closer. This painting, it reminded me of you. She is beautiful and small and innocent and-"

"A naked picture reminded you of me?" she asked, her eyebrows raising up into her scalp. "Okay, look, this has been really nice of you to show me, and I thought you were interesting at the café, but this is just getting too… weird for me. I think I'm going to head back home now."

As fast as his hopes had been kindled, they were just as quickly crushed under Erin's admission. All the hours of collecting labels and receipts for her, studying her every move, listening to her music would be in vain. Did she not see how much he had done for her? He could not let her give up on him, and he thought that if she just touched

him once more she would realize that they were meant to be together. He took her shoulder blades into his grip and turned her around to face him. He cupped the back of

her neck tightly as he pulled her face to his, pressing their lips together.

Her arms flailed, hitting him in the small of his back but he paid it no attention. He would make her see, physically prove to her that he could not live without her presence. His other hand came up to meet the first and he pulled and gripped tighter to get her to contour to his body. Finally, her lips opened slightly, her body dragging against Nicolas' steely grip on her neck. His fingers dug into her skin, trying to extract any emotion from Erin. When she grew quiet, heavy and limp in his arms, he broke their embrace. He let his fingers slacken, and Erin's body tumbled with a sharp crack onto the cold, marble floor.

Nicolas crouched down beside her body, oblivious to the museum guards spilling into the annex, as he stroked her tangled hair. The shouts of the gendarmes echoed off the smooth, contoured ceiling. The sound annoyed Nicolas as it began to distract him from Erin. He looked lovingly at her lifeless body, moving her hair from her face and marveling at the contrast between the dark, burgundy blood haloing her head and the cool, blue tile of the floor. He wished he had brought his easel so that he could capture her fragile beauty. Still sitting, he leaned over and pulled her into his arms. He cradled her body, barely noticing the unnatural coldness of her flesh, and smiled. She would forever be with him.


End file.
